All That I Want Is Everything
by xoShortee93
Summary: Life takes an unexpected turn, possibly for the worst, when Clara Baker, a girl used to flying way low under the radar, suddenly finds herself in the Permian spotlight after being violently assaulted in Ratliff Stadium.
1. Chapter 1

**[Summer 1988]**

**CHAPTER ONE**

They later informed me that the football coach, Mr. Gaines, found me. I don't remember that. I only recall a brief moment of weightlessness as I slowly passed out from the pain, but that's about it. Lying on the bed in the nurse's office two hours later, I wait for someone to fetch me. The nurse, a portly woman with cherry red hair and kind green eyes named Miss Fiona Underwood, gave me a pack of ice wrapped in a towel to put over my swollen eye. That was an hour ago when I finally woke up, so the ice is actually now a dripping, wet mess, but I continue holding it over my swollen eye anyway. It lessens the sting.

Antsy and bored, I move in order to sit up on the stiff bed and my body screams out in protest, using my mouth to vocalize its pain as I gasp in shock at how much everything hurts. On instinct I lay back down, despite how uncomfortable the mattress seemed two seconds ago. The pain came from my lower back and my left side. My heart races erratically in my chest like it does after I finish running, but I know it's from the shock of the sudden sting and not an adrenaline rush. I want to go home.

Closing my eyes to stop the sudden dizziness, I throw one leg over the side, swinging it back and forth. It looks like the only thing I can do without causing further pain to myself. Voices, muffled and indistinct, come from the other side of the door as I try to regain my breath. I don't know if they're talking about me or not, but there's an urgency in the quickly-spoken whispers. A few more minutes pass and nothing climactic occurs; I begin to gaze around the room, though this is not my first trip here. I've suffered through so many bodily injures doing track and soccer that the nurse and I are on a first name basis.

Just then—_Finally_!—the door in front of me opens, and I stop swinging my foot as Vice Principal Woody (his name is just unfortunate) sticks his head in. His beady grey eyes stare at me (or rather, my injuries) in fascination before he clears his throat. "_Ahem!_ Follow me, Miss Baker," he says. Then he vanishes from the doorway.

"Oh no, I don't need any help at all, you ass," I grumble furiously under my breath. Wincing, I slowly begin the process of lowering myself to the stainless tile floor, ignoring my heart rate as it skyrockets once more and how my right ankle throbs on contact with the floor and how my vision slowly doubles…triples. I close my eyes for a brief moment and wait for the lightheadedness to vanish, then I head in the direction I saw the V.P. going, my gait more of a limp since apparently only one foot is remotely useful. It's not too difficult to figure out where everyone is considering the crowd of people in the Principal's office.

Mr. Gaines, Mr. Woody, Principal Davies, and my guidance counselor, Miss Shay, all stand behind the big, mahogany desk. Their faces vary from concerned to nervous. On the other side of the desk: Janie, my mother, Sheriff Jefferson, and Nurse Fiona. Each adult talks loudly and tries to be heard over the other loudly talking adults, but the second I knock on the door frame to announce my arrival, a graveyard suddenly becomes more welcoming.

Janie turns in her seat and looks at me, her brown eyes red from crying. Her face is dry now. In fact, the longer she looks at my face, the more I see her eyes flash with fury. Proving my point, her hands clench the ends of the arm rest of her chair, her fingertips turning red and actually shaking. She's an intimidating woman, and I have no doubt that she gave everyone in this room hell.

"Ah, Miss Clarabelle Baker," Principal Davies says, pushing his black-framed glasses further up his hawk-like nose. He gestures to the raggedy arm chair in front of him and beside my mother. I silently move past the Sheriff—he politely steps out of my way—and try to hide my prominent limp from the seven pairs of eyes watching my every move. I don't know which is more uncomfortable, this lousy excuse for a chair or the staring.

A moment of silence ensues where everyone just looks at me. Then, Principal Davies begins speaking again. "Miss Baker, I hope you realize the seriousness of this event. We do not take kindly to physical assault on school grounds. If you could please tell us who attacked you, I promise you that the proper actions will be taken immediately.

Slouched in the chair, I fiddle my thumbs and stare down at the intricate woodwork of the desk. My heart pounds loudly in my ears—this time, because of adrenaline—and my stomach successfully loops itself into knots.

The Sheriff misunderstands my silence for fear of snitching. "Miss Baker," he comments stiffly, "if you're concerned about the ramifications of turning in the culprit, then I must assure you that we won't allow further harm to come your way."

"They're right Clara," Miss Shay diverges, that smile I hate plastered on her skeleton face. She's so transparent it's disgusting. They all are. I struggle to keep myself from rolling my eyes to their faces, so I just continue to stare down.

"Clara, tell 'em what happened," Janie says in a low voice.

Sighing, I finally look up, glancing at the face of each adult as if I'm afraid of the truth. Ha! The truth: God couldn't get me to spill the beans. Nothing would be done, they know it and I know it.

"I never saw his face," I whisper. Lie. I could delineate the scar right by the corner of his eye to what he was wearing, his height, approximate weight, and all other necessary physical descriptions.

"So it was a he?" the Sheriff asks. His voice inquires for more information, but his eyes tell otherwise.

"You think I would let a _girl _do this to me?" I point to my surely swollen and bruised (I refuse to look in a mirror yet) face.

"You never saw his face," Mr. Woody questions skeptically. "How's that possible?"

I shrug, taking a slight pause to think of something. "I panicked," I speak in impromptu. "I didn't think to look closely."

"Many victims of assault usually aren't able to describe their attackers in such a dangerous and quick moment," Miss Fiona inputs quietly. "It's quite common actually." God bless her.

"What were you even doing at Ratliff so early in the morning?" Dickhead continues.

God, he acts like I _wanted _this to happen, and if I could rewind, I'm pretty sure an accusation outlined his tone. I look him pointedly in the eyes but before I open my mouth, Janie snaps, "Why the hell does it even matter? Focus on finding out who the hell laid their fucking hands on my daughter!"

"Miss Baker, I'm going to have to ask you to lower your voice and calm down—" Principal Davies begins.

"_Calm down_?"

Just like that, the entire room is going at it again. I can't fathom why Janie even bothers; she should know better then to the think this school would actually care. Janie and I aren't of any importance to this damn town. We could catch fire right now and half the school wouldn't piss on us to save our lives.

I look up and realize one person stands quietly instead of participating in the arguing. Mr. Gaines looks from my face, confusion written across his slack features, to the so-called adults. I look down to avoid eye contact, but I struggle to shake the look on his face out of my head. I'll have to get him alone and question him on what he knows.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Janie exclaims at last. Then she grabs my arm and practically pulls me out of the chair. It takes all the control in the world not to burst into hysterical sobbing. Instead, I grit my teeth and let her pull me to my feet, but I quickly remove myself from her tight grasp. She's so pissed she might yank me arm off without realizing it. "Let's go, Clara."

Outside in the main hallway an eerie silence claims the school as students sit in homeroom. Janie walks quickly ahead of me, her anger fueling her speed. I watch her, a sudden exhaustion claiming me at the thought of walking all the way to the front doors. My vision doubles again, and I lean against the wall, catching my breath and waiting for the kaleidoscope act to end.

It doesn't.

I see my vision begin to blacken at the corners. My lips try to form words to call out to my mother, but my tongues suddenly feels thick and swollen. I take a single step. I lose my balance and watch the tile floors suddenly rush up to meet me. I'm out before I hit the ground.

o o o

I was forced to spend the night at the hospital in Midland. My ankle turned out to be "moderately" sprained, so it was wrapped in ACE bandages before the nurse slid a protective brace over it. I have to keep the brace on for at least two weeks, but I should be practically healed in a little less than a month. Sprains are nothing new, but I listen raptly out of habit. As an athlete, I never know. I had severe bruising around my rib cage, but the doctor concluded that none of my ribs themselves seemed bruised or broken. My face is a little more…bad. My left eye is swollen and bruised, and splotchy bruising covers my lower jaw. My lower lip is split, but it stopped bleeding hours ago. Last, there is slight bruising on my knuckles from where I fought back. My mom, although extremely pissed, was still proud. She assumed that people could find my attacker based on his injuries, but I told her that I only got in a few lame hits that he could cover up with make-up anyway. She got mad at my pessimistic attitude and left for the cafeteria.

When she brought me home this morning, I was glad that I had the weekend to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught I would undoubtedly face at school Monday morning. I had no question that a few—okay, a lot—of the students would laugh or say stupid shit, but I still couldn't pinpoint an exact amount. I did, however, choose to get one hurdle out the way. Better she hear it from me than someone else (which she surely would if I didn't tell her now).

After I hang-up with her after school hours, I waited patiently in my bedroom for my best and only friend, LeAnn, who lives only five minutes from my house (walking). Our relationship is a funny story, because we originally hated each other. She was under the impression that I thought I'm better than everyone else because I got straight A's and played a strong center-forward (a position that most freshmen don't hold on the varsity team and a position that LeAnn had wanted). I just thought she was a bitch. But at the end of our ninth grade year, we both got kicked out of a game by our coach for fighting one another on the field, and we spent the last hour-and-a-half stuck on the school bus while our team got creamed by Midland. Somehow, screaming at each other, we reached a mutual understanding, and our friendship has slowly grown since. We're practically inseparable now.

I'm lying on my back on my purple duvet-covered bed, my foot propped up on a college dictionary topped by a history textbook topped by a small pillow. A fresh bag of ice is wrapped in a hand towel and continues to de-swell my sprained ankle. Another bag of ice sits on my white nightstand while I let my face warm up. I feel better, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the pain relievers I took thirty minutes ago. Yep, I am _all _mellow.

When the doorbell rings, I try to sit myself up more on the millions of pillows Janie put behind my back. My ribs, however, protest rudely, and I quickly resume my former position. I hear LeAnn make polite conversation with Janie before stomping up our stairs, her pace rushed. She throws herself into my room, her fair skin tomato red from exhaustion, and her ocean blue eyes wide in shock.

"I'll kill 'em," she whispers in a low voice.

"Lee," I moan, not wanting her to even go there.

"I'll fucking kill 'em," she states bluntly. "No…that's too nice. First, I'll set 'em on fire, but I'll put 'em out before they die. Then, I'll pour vinegar all over their burns…and then I'll kill 'em."

"Did I ever tell you that you have a lovely personality?"

Her face remains impassive. She's a small girl; everything about her is small and delicate, making her a natural southern beauty. Brown freckles decorate her defined cheekbones, running across her small nose. Her fleshy pink lips are slightly parted, barely revealing two rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. Her heart-shaped face gives her an almost child-like look of innocence. She's only a few inches shorter than me, and I'm 5'6". She has shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair that always curls at the ends. She's toned and lean, curvy, but not too much.

She walks slowly to my bed, sitting down on the edge by my knees and staring into my eyes. "Janie says you don't recall what happened."

I shrug. "I don't recall much of anything about the incident really," I admit. Not an _exact _lie, because most of it is a blur. Just not who did it.

LeAnn bites down gently on her lower lip, her eyes dropping to my twitchy fingers that clench and unclench the duvet. She looks back up at me. "You're lyin' to me," she says gently. "But I won't push anything because I'm just glad you're okay."

She slides a slender hand into mine, squeezing tightly in reassurance. I look down at our intertwined fingers, our skin tones contrasting slightly, but not by much.

"Oh, I almost forgot!"

LeAnn releases my hand to dig around in her MAKE LOVE NOT WAR over-the-shoulder bag. She pulls out a manila envelope and hands it to me. "Yesterday and today's homework from your classes," she tells me. "The notes are in there too, but Clara the Genius probably won't need them."

She grins at me, and I'm glad to see that she's lighting up around me now. I thank her before setting the envelope beside me. I'll get everything done over the weekend. I push my tongue against the inside of my cheek, wondering how best to approach my next question.

"Has anyone at school…err…said anything, you know, about…?"

I trail off while LeAnn sighs and looks out my bedroom window that encompasses Ratliff Stadium. She's quiet a moment, but without moving she finally says, "Everyone heard the ambulance arrive on campus."

I nod. That must've been not long after I passed out. "And…?" I probe.

"I think a few kids figured it was you simply based on the fact that you've never missed a day of school in your life."

It's true. I've won Perfect Attendance since kindergarten, but it looks like my record is broken now. "Did they say anything?"

She shrugs. "A few people asked me what happened, but I just ignored them. I didn't want anything I might say to be used against you later."

"Oh…okay. Thanks, LeAnn."

"What are friends for?" she asks, looking at me now. A faint smile plays across her lips, and I return it. She leaves a few minutes later, having to get home to help her mom with dinner. Suddenly exhausted, I grab the other ice pack and lay it over my eye. Dear Christ, how did I let this happen to me?


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

I listen to the silence of the library, my head resting against the spines of the Renaissance Era. Study Hall: my only reprieve from the torment of actually being around people. No one came up here. In fact, I would bet that 99.9% of the Permian Panther population didn't know we even had a library, let alone where the hell it is. It is my safety net from the outside world, and the one place I don't feel judged or hated.

Staring at the shelves across from me, I gingerly reach for my guilty pleasure: Shakespeare's famous _Romeo & Juliet_. I lay the small, thin paperback on my lap, the spine worn from the millions of times I've opened and stretched its binding. I've never understood why the book meant so much to me. Quite frankly, I didn't care for Shakespeare or his plays, but after reading _Romeo & Juliet _freshman year in English, I became obsessed. Not with the tragic ending caused by a simple case of bad communication. No, I was in love with Romeo, or better yet, my Romeo. Because in the real world, he didn't exist, but I hope that he does.

It's embarrassing really. But I blame it on my sexually-deprived being. It's not healthy, my thinking. But I can't help but envy Juliet, a mere child falling in love with someone so…breathtaking. It must be nice up there in Shakespeare's head…you know, until Juliet plunges the dagger into her breast. I imagine that scene going a thousand different directions except a double suicide.

Flipping through the soft, brown pages, I find my favorite scene, reading softly to myself in the dull silence the balcony scene of the play. I didn't want to think about the homework load patiently waiting for me in my bag on the table. I didn't want to think about anything that reminded me of school, my bruises, or the fact that I feel utterly and completely alone.

Clearly, I should've read something more depressing. Maybe Titus…

Suddenly disgusted with my pitiful fantasies, I shove the frail play back onto the shelf and return to my bag, lying open from an earlier attempt at doing my homework, with my crutches tossed across the table. AP European history first because it'll take the longest considering I have to write a eight to ten page paper on cause and effect of the French Revolution, blah, blah. Grabbing my notebook and pen, I head to the appropriate section in the library with all of five sources. Great.

Settling down, I get as comfortable as possible, my notebook settled in the crook of my lap. I grab the first book and flip through the index until I find what I'm looking for. I spend the next fifteen minutes as still as a statue save for my hand flying across my paper, jotting down names, dates, places, and events in chronological order, trying to embed everything I read in my mind so I really know it. I hear nothing but the scratching of the pen. Even my breathing seems silent, patient. Shame, I'm most relaxed surrounded by dead people and their stories.

"_Ahem!_"

I'm ashamed to say that I scream. Loudly. It was just that it was so quiet; I though I was the only living soul in the room. Even the librarian is gone (who I assume takes an extended lunch knowing that I'm the only one ever in the place in the afternoons). I guess I scare easier than I used to, but it makes no sense how I didn't hear anyone even come in.

Knocking the books across the floor, my pen flies from my hands as I jump up, my instincts telling me to run. Suddenly my vision swims, and I suddenly see nothing. It's pitch black and suddenly I hear the soft voice in my ear, comforting me. _"Shhh, Clara, it's just me_."

"Clara…?"

I feel sick. I can literally feel my fists shaking at my sides, clammy with nerves. _Deep breathes, Clara. Get a hold of yourself_.

"I'm fine," I hiss through tightly clenched teeth.

Keeping my distance from whoever so rudely destroyed my mental safety net, I bend over to pick up my fallen materials. My side and ankle throb, reminding me that I'm not to make any sudden movements. _Too little, too late_. "What?" I finally ask, the single word coming out with more bite than I intended.

"Uhhh, I need help finding something."

"I don't work here," I snap loudly enough for them to hear, but I refuse to turn around. My bruises on my face suddenly seem to throb, as if to say, "_Don't forget about us_." Don't worry, I didn't.

"Well, there's no one else here _but you_, so could you help me anyway?"

"Christ," I hiss under my breath. I turn around, and I'm not surprised. "Of course Don, you of all people would not have the slightest fucking clue how to work the damn Dewey Decimal System."

"Nice to see you too, Clara," he retorts sarcastically.

I make a move to stand up using the shelves as support and I realize that this makes me look more crippled than the crutches would have. I move slowly to make sure there's not too much pressure on my injured foot. "Excuse me but I believe you asked for my help. _Do you want it_?"

He just looks at me, amused, before shaking his head slowly. Then he pulls a slip of paper out of his stonewashed pockets and reads, "I'm supposed to get…an article about health."

"Newspaper?"

"I guess."

"Well I need to know if you want my —"

"Yes, Clara, a newspaper," he cuts off in an annoyed tone.

I decide to bite my tongue and say as even-toned as I can, "Newspapers are in the back." Besides, it's not completely his fault I'm a wreck. I blame it on really bad life choices.

His heavy steps follow my limping gait into the room in the back of the library. It's where the newspapers, magazines, and copies of documents are archived. On a shelf against the wall, I pull out several stacks of the ODESSA AMERICAN and set them on the counter, trying to ignore how suddenly small the space around me feels. Tight and suffocating small, almost like the air has been sucked out of the room. I take another slow, wavering breath. When I turn around, Don is standing in the doorway, eyeing the piles.

"What the hell are those?"

"Your articles," I reply snootily. He's still staring at the stacks as I slip past him and back into the main area. I return to my private space on the floor and I set to work on my homework. I work my way slowly through the paper. I don't know how much time passed; I'm so wrapped up in my studies, that when I hear a knock, I let out a gasp and jump what seems like a foot in the air. Again.

Agitated, I shriek, "_What_?"

Don is standing, his fist still raised from knocking on the shelf. His light green eyes looked glazed over from a boredom-induced drug. Clearly, someone needed to get into a library more often. Or stay away from them; I wasn't sure.

"Just came over to say thanks," he says gruffly. He clears his throat, raising his article in appreciation before saying, "Talk to ya later?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply absentmindedly, already returning to Marie Antoinette and her tragic end. Ha, like us two beings from opposite solar-systems would ever talk again! This one conversation was purely forced and a work of chance.

Don didn't say anything further, but his retreating footsteps alert me to his whereabouts as they drift further away. I hear the door slam, and once again I am alone.

That was the first time I talked to Don Billingsly.

/

The next morning before school started, I sat on the collapsed wooden picnic table, sitting on the bench now only a few inches from the ground. I originally had my notebook open to study, but I couldn't focus as the main entrance slowly became busy and flooded with students milling about and waiting for the bell. Groups and cliques laughed and joked around, a majority of the football team and their Pepetts who, although not dressed up in their uniforms, stood out simply by the way they dominated everyone's attention, laughing the loudest and shitting on whoever happened to walk by who wasn't "one of them". I'm sad to say that even I looked at them every so often, but with the billowing laughter, they were kinda hard to ignore.

Sighing, suddenly glad I was conspicuous tucked into a corner of the building, I looked down at my notebook where I had doodled on a clean sheet. I had been out of it, but looking at the sketch now, I felt slightly disturbed and even a bit frightened. I shut the notebook, my chest tight and my fingers shaking. I shove it in my bag along with my pencil, wishing I could scratch the image out of my mind.

It suddenly became too hot, and I knew I needed to get inside. In the process of gathering my crutches under my arms, the lawn falls into a buzz, as if thousands of bees suddenly replaced the student population. I look up from trying to adjust my bag over my shoulders and my eyes immediately fall on the source of the whispers.

Climbing out a beat-up Mustang is someone I've never seen before, a girl looking about my age. She seems tall (her legs are clearly long and toned) but with her four-inch heels on, I can't really tell. She has light olive-toned skin and ink-black hair as long as mine, but with strips of pink and red that scream, "_Look at me_!" I can't really see her facial features distinctly, but I can make-out her designer handbag and shades. If she had lived in Odessa all her life, she would fit in with half the female population at Permian. But there was also something different about her. Something about how she walked towards the stairs, sucking up all the attention without even glancing at anybody.

I hated her already.

It's nothing against her on a personal level, but it was obvious which crowd she would fall into. I gave it approximately two weeks before she was dumping milk over my head in the cafeteria. Wanting to get to class before the bell rang, I made my way slowly to the stairs as normalcy returned to the area. Wary of falling and busting my head open, I placed one crunch on the first stair, completely forgetting how the hell I got up yesterday.

"Here, let me help."

"Uh, no thanks, I've got it."

Brian looks at me then up at the door that is my goal. He looks back at me and sighs. "Sure is a lot of stairs. I would hate for you to fall or something."

He grins at me, the teasing obvious. But Brian is different than the rest of his buddies simply because he's one of the few with a conscious. He's always been good to me even though we don't talk much, which is a shame really, because he was one of the few people I could stand.

"If it'll help you sleep at night," I say with a roll of my eyes. What I didn't say was how much I appreciated this, because getting up the stairs is a nightmare all on its own.

I move the crutches to my right side, holding onto the lower handles with one hand. Brian wraps his muscled arm around my waist and I throw mine around the back of his neck, leaning gently into his side, cautious of my injuries. I pick up my foot, and we slowly work our way up the stairs, Brian being one-hundred percent patient with my snail-like pace.

"Hey Chavo, let the cripple go so we can watch her fall!"

I don't know who screamed it, but it suddenly seemed like the entire frown lawn erupted into laughter. My face burned and I suddenly felt sick. "Just ignore them, Clara," Brian mutters gently. "They're just assholes."

"But they're your friends, so what does that make you?" I snap, humiliation fueling my anger at the one person who didn't deserve it right now.

Brian is stunned into silence, and I inhale sharply as we reach the top. "Thanks," I say under my breath as he steps away. I maneuver both crutches back under my arms, refusing any more help from Brian despite his offer to at least hold the door. I shouldn't be mad at him—a part of me realizes that. However, guilty by association, and Brian had some seriously bad associations. Not his fault, just the way it is.

Inside, the building is cool and packed with freshmen, sophomores, and juniors who aren't worthy enough to be on the lawn with a majority of the seniors. They more or less ignore me as I make my way through the thick crowds, grumbling under my breath whenever I receive a shove and am pushed into someone. I just get out the thrall of the crowd when a thick hand falls on my shoulder, squeezing tightly enough so that I know to freeze.

"Come with me," Principal Davies orders. So I do.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Apparently, her name is Stasia Queen, and she's from Manhattan, New York. From far away I thought she would be pretentious, but she's so much more uppity close up. What's worse is that she doesn't do it on purpose, but I swear to God, if she squeals that one more thing is, "_soooo_ adorable" I'm gonna hit her. It doesn't help that she's unbelievably gorgeous with her bright blue eyes, sharpened in the backdrop of her neutral make-up. She also happens to be 5'9". She's practically a fucking model, so how the hell she wound up in the 5th worst place to live (thank you, _Money Magazine_, all of us in Odessa were _so proud_) is a story I'm curious to hear.

I can't fathom what the hell was running through Principal Davies head when he asked me to babysit her (not necessarily in those words) for the day so that she could learn her way around the school. You would think he would ask, oh, I dunno, the class president or Valedictorian or something. But no, he asked me, so here I was, glaring at Stasia while she tried to haggle with the lunchlady for something that didn't look like it had been squashed with a mallet.

"All _I'm _saying," she explains in a determined voice, her northern accent dripping from her tongue, "is that you should offer a larger variety of food. I mean really, what person eats this load of garbage? Would you?"

"Alright, Stasia," I say in a rushed voice, pushing her down the line where a huge gap had formed from where we stood to where we pay. "What the hell?" I hiss under my breath, glancing back at the Miss Wright who was growing purple in the face, eyes bulging out of her skeleton-like head. That'll come back to haunt me. Her face, that is.

Christ, it just did.

"Do you always eat this crap," she says sticking her tongue out in disgust. "I mean, can't we go off?"

Trying to shake Wright's face from my subconscious, I quickly answer. "We can," I sigh, unable to lie because she'd find out eventually, "but money is tight for a lot of people around here…"

"Oh, okay."

She said it like it was nothing, like it was something so easy to accept like it was gonna rain. I frowned but didn't push the subject.

We paid for our food, and I began to lead Stasia to me and LeAnn's regular table in the back of the cafeteria. I had left one crutch with her (LeAnn) and had one under my arm so that I could balance my tray in my other hand. "I'll introduce you to my best friend, LeAnn," I told Stasia as we began to move. Between my bruised, ugly face and her flawless beautiful one, we grabbed the attention of the entire room, whispers following in our wake. Self-conscious and wary, I ducked my head down, praying I didn't stumble and fall. I could see Stasia taking her newfound popularity in stride.

"Hey there," a voice speaks out from in front of us, "you must be the new girl."

"Stasia Queen," Stasia says pleasantly enough.

I look up between my lashes without moving my head. Maria Saunders, probably the most popular girl and the biggest whore after Melissa Tate. Maria, however, is the bitch behind a majority of my humiliation. She always finds some way to put me down since the ninth grade. I still don't know what I did to make her hate me so much.

"Welcome to Permian," Maria says brightly, flipping her dirty blonde locks over her shoulder and fluttering her stupid, slutty, long lashes. "My name's Maria Saunders, and my friends and I would like to invite you have lunch with us. There are _some _people," she says looking pointedly at me than back at LeAnn, who is now standing, waiting for a fight or something, "you just don't want to associate with."

Stasia is silent a moment. "I know what you mean," she says finally. I don't know why, but my chest aches at her words. I knew this would happen, but it hurts all the same.

"See, I knew we would get each other," Maria gushes.

"Yeah, because I would really hate to hang out with a total bitch like you."

Once again, Stasia says it so plainly, but Maria's mouth falls open in shock and my head finally comes up in disbelief and little bit of respect. I couldn't even fathom calling Maria a 'bitch' simply because she has more resources to make my life a total hell (well, a _bigger_ hell), besides, if it had been me she would just laugh in my face. Stasia's face remains impassive while Maria's quickly changes shades of red.

"Ex-fucking-_scuse _me," she gasps.

"You heard me," Stasia states plainly. "Now where were we gonna sit, Clara?"

She struts away, leaving a pissed off Maria staring at me as if this is somehow my fault. I can't even shrink under her gaze, I'm too ecstatic. Slowly but surely, I follow after Stasia who already made her way towards LeAnn, probably figuring out our seating arrangement simply because of the way LeAnn was screaming my name.

"Relax, Lee," I assure her when I reach the table. "Stasia put the nutsucker in her place."

Stasia looks at me, confused, and LeAnn explain, "It's our nickname for Maria because she gives so many blow-jobs a year."

"Oh."

I sit down next to Stasia whereas LeAnn resumes her original seat across from us. "Uh…Stasia, this is my best friend, LeAnn. LeAnn, this is Stasia, she's new."

"Nice to meet you." Stasia smiles, holding out her hand for LeAnn to shake, which she does.

"You too. What accent is that?"

"Yorker," I explain.

"You're a _yankee_," LeAnn asks, her voice dripping with a sudden disdain.

Stasia immediately gets defensive, snatching her hand back and glaring at LeAnn with contempt. "I'm not too fond of being surrounded by hicks, either."

"_Tch_, please. You should be _honored _Texas even _wants _you."

Damn that Texas pride. It inflates our heads to the size of…well, Texas.

"Well," I interrupt quickly just as Stasia opens her mouth to retort, "now that we've got introductions out of the way—"

"Yo, Cuz, you gonna introduce me to your friend?"

A low growl escapes from somewhere low in my throat. "What, James."

Stasia looks from me to James (aka Bobbie, but I _refuse _to call _anyone _related to me a part of the female anatomy, even if it is spelled differently) and inquires, "Are you two related?"

"Unfortunately," I hiss. "Can you leave?" I ask my cousin.

"Not until I get a name," James says with a smile, moving to sit beside Stasia's other side. "James Miles, but everyone calls me Boobie. Runningback on the football team and varsity ladie's man."

I accidently spit out my milk before trying to hide my disbelieving laugh behind the back of my hand. God, my cousin is a cocky idiot, sometimes I'm actually embarrassed to share his DNA. Sometimes I wonder how James went from the sweet little boy who used to instruct me on the game of football when we were six to the conceited jock who hardly glances twice in my direction unless I have something he wants.

I catch a glare from James from behind Stasia who had turned to face him, but I just ignore him. I look up at LeAnn and catch her gaze. She looks at my cousin then rolls her eyes. I totally agree.

By the end of the day, my good leg is sore from carrying the brunt of the weight, again, and is begging for me to sit down and call it day. Stasia already left, her Mom arriving early. She tried to tempt me into introductions, but I opted out, complaining about the pain in my side from too much movement (not an exact lie). LeAnn had to stay behind in her English class to discuss a grade she received on a paper, so by the time she finished, I planned to be on my way home.

This is me leaving.

Slamming my locker shut, I shift my crutches so that both are under one arm, and then I try to pick my bookbag off the floor, which is more difficult than is sounds because bending my knees is turning out not to be such a good option for me. Wobbling forward, I tried to lift my bag by one strap when I almost toppled forward by the sudden weight of it, letting out a single gasp of panic as someone grabs me around the waist.

"Whoa…I gotcha."

My heart pounding in my ears, the person gently rights me back up. The hallways are still flooded with kids exiting the building, and had the person not caught me, my senior year would've been down the shit pipe.

"Umm, thanks…Don?"

Having moved from behind me, bending over to pick up my bag, Don turns his head up to look at me, a slight grin on his face. "Why, you are _so_ welcome." He straightens, tugging my bag over one broad shoulder. "I've got this," he adds when I reach for my bag.

Right. I just nod, returning his grin with a tight-lipped and semi-uncomfortable-with-the-whole-situation "grin" before placing a crutch under each arm. I make my way slowly to the double doors that mark my escape with Don following along beside me at an equally slow pace and not seeming to mind it either.

Feeling like I should say something, I blurt out, "I'm sorry I was a bitch yesterday. It wasn't you, I was just having a really shitty day."

"Nah, it's cool. No offense taken."

"Oh, well, good then."

We continue silently to my car, and the weight of the awkward silence makes my face burn. Like with Stasia, Don and I draw attention of the crowd, and I feel more self-conscious under each lingering and criticizing gaze. I can't wait for these damn bruises to heal so I can go back to being an ignored nobody. All this staring shit is unnerving. Then again, being caught walking with the "new girl" and the "it" guy of the school isn't helping my cause much either.

When we finally reach my beat-up pick-up, I instruct Don to just toss the bag in the bag, which he does, and I follow up with my crutches. Opening my driver's side door, I turn to look at Don. I open my mouth but my words die on my tongue when I look at him looking at me with a really weird, intense look on his face.

"Uhhh…"

Don blinks. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say 'thanks' for helping me out," I tell him, as sincere as possible. "I really appreciate it."

Don just shrugs. "It's nothing," he responds nonchalant. "So…I'll see you around."

It's my turn to shrug. "I guess…" I murmur half-heartedly.

Don smiles and I'll honestly admit: it's a nice smile. Two rows of straight, white teeth as well as small crinkles at the corner of each eye. But there's something about it that put me on edge. Like a predator's smile. "Let me rephrase…I really hope I see you 'round."

My face heats up, my mouth opening and closing like a fish outta water. There is no mistaking the seductive undertone in his baritone voice. When I finally get my baring, Don's at least five feet away. "Excuse me?"

Don stops and casually looks back over his shoulder. "What?"

"Don't '_what_' me," I snap indignantly. "Where the hell do you get off trying to…_flirt_ with me? Who the hell do you think I am?"

I'm hanging on to the bed of the truck, furious. My fingers press into the hot metal, the tips losing feeling in a matter of seconds. I'm so pissed, it's not even funny. I don't know guys well enough to know what exactly Don meant by his last comment, but I know me well enough to know that I didn't like the connotation that dripped off his voice when he said it. It sounded like he was trying to slip me a dirty phrase or something. Besides, he didn't mean it, he just said it the same reason guys asked me out freshman year, then turned to their buddies and laughed it out: I'm a fucking joke.

Don frowns, turning slowly ninety degrees in confusion. "I don't get what the hell you're talking 'bout. All I said was that I wanted to see you around again."

I roll my eyes, scoffing loudly so he knows exactly what I think about his lame excuse. "Don't bullshit me, Billingsly, your reputation precedes you. I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing here, but leave me the fuck out of it."

I shoot him a glare as I climb inside my truck, the interior sweltering hot from being in the sun the entire school day. And as I pull out of the student parking lot, not once do I look back. I have no idea what kind of impact my words make on Don, but when he goes back to our usual relationship of ignoring one another, I figured they hit home.

The words, that is.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"And we had to come to this stupid event, _why_?" I inquire, winded from the walk with only one crutch supporting me under my arm. We had to park all the way at the far corner of the school parking lot, and sadly the cafeteria is near the front. Had I realized the walk would be so dreadful on my ankle, I would've fought harder to stay home.

"To support your cousin. Remember, Sweetie, _cousin _is _family _in many cultures."

"I don't think I appreciate your tone."

Janie smiled at me and just patted my back awkwardly. It was completely unfair that I was dragged kicking and screaming (metaphorically speaking of course) to one of the most mundane events in this God-forsaken town. Not only did it succeed in wasting my time, but it also gave ego boost to the one-hundred or so students who, honest-to-God, didn't need it.

"So, are you gonna drag James to one of my events in the near future?"

"Clara, please, not now," Janie says through clenched teeth. Her brown eyes dart from one arriving family to the other, paranoid. She never did enjoy large gatherings simply because she had crowd issues: she's as popular in Odessa as a gay Yankee who hates football and takes the Lord's name in vain.

I zip my lips, but I'm definitely not happy about being here. I used to be more supportive of my cousin. He had talent, that much was obvious, and I understood that he didn't have the academic stamina to make it any other way _except _football. However, when he started treating me like I was just another fan and he stopped showing support for me, well, we haven't gotten along since we were thirteen.

The Watermelon Feed, a stupid event that just introduces the seasons football team. In all honesty, it was like a pre-season psych-up, because the official start of the season started in just two weeks, around the beginning of September. It was a major event, so naturally, I loath everything about it.

Janie and I take a place near the back simply because we aren't in-tune very well with our fellow neighbors. I place my one crutch between my legs. Janie starts whistling the TV theme song to 'Dallas' while I scan the crowd. A few people get caught staring at my face, but when I catch their eyes, they looked away quickly.

"God, you would think these people would've seen a bruise before," I mutter under my breath.

"Just ignore them," Janie mutters uselessly.

The seats fill quickly, families pouring into the Permian High cafeteria like ants at a picnic. They come wearing all black — ("It's a football event, not a funeral," Janie noted with a roll of her eyes) — and grinning like it was Christmas.

"I can't wait for this to be over with," I sigh. Janie nods.

"Hey…Clara! Hey!"

Waving at me with ten times more enthusiasm than I can even muster at this point in life is Stasia. Ever since she practically defended me against Maria a few weeks ago, she's been hanging around with me and LeAnn, and it's not so bad. The girls still find things to disagree over, but they tend to keep quiet around me. I pat the empty seat next to me, and Stasia touches the arm of a tall, slender woman next to her before pointing to Janie and me.

Stasia settles down comfortably next to me before turning back to the woman who I can only assume is her mother. They have the exact same builds, same eyes and facial features, the only huge difference is her mother's brunette hair, wrapped up in a ballerina bun.

"Mom, this is the girl I was telling you about, Clara Baker. Clara, this is my mother, Veronica Queen."

I smile awkwardly past Stasia and at her mother, holding out my hand politely. I expect her to stare at my hand with disdain, sniff with contempt. That's what LeAnn's mother did. Instead, however, Miss Veronica Queen breaks into a wide, honest-to-God warm smile. She grabs my hand and lays her other one over out conjoined limbs.

"It is an _honor _to finally meet you, Miss Clara Baker," she says in a shockingly strong northern accent. "Stasia talks so much about you, I feel like we've already met. You are so much prettier than Stasia gave you credit for."

I feel myself blush, grinning. She has that kind of personality that a simple compliment like that could make you beam with pride, like her opinion is the only one that should get you through life, and no one else's matter. Stasia shoots her mother an irritated glare, but I much rather like Miss Queen. "Oh, thanks," I giggle. Biting my lower lip, we release hands and I quickly introduce her to my mother. Stasia and Janie wind up switching spots so our mother's can talk.

"They really seem to like each other," I whisper, leaning in to Stasia so no one can overhear our conversation. I mean it though. The two women are talking animatedly about the Queen's move from New York, settling in, yadda, yadda. Quite frankly, I hope things work out between them. Maybe, if Janie has an actual friend in this place, she'll leave me alone and get a life.

When the feeding finally starts (after prayer and a video of Permian's Proudest Panther Plays), I only half watch, my vision slipping into a boredom induced gaze that I bet mirrors Don's face when he came out from reading through all those papers. Janie is silent beside me, applauding politely and even letting out a "_whoo-hoo_!" when James is called up. The enthusiastic roaring of the audience becomes a loud buzzing in my ear, and I'm unable to hear a thing. Which is apparently why Stasia suddenly shakes me.

"Who _is _that?" she screams in my ear when she realizes she has my attention.

I follow her gaze to the front, not having been paying attention to who was up. I half expect Don to be up, but I'm shocked to see none other than Brian Chavez standing awkwardly on the "stage", his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans. With his charismatic, yet hesitant, grin and kind, brown eyes, I can see why Stasia would want him pointed out.

"Brian Chavez," I holler back.

"Do you know him?"

"Not well," I admit.

Stasia nods and falls silent. They rotate Brian for Ivory, and I like them both well enough to applaud briefly before laying my hands back in my lap. My leg bounces up and down impatiently, and the thought of them weeding through the entire football team makes my head hurt and my leg bounce faster. Janie doesn't turn her head at all, but her hand slams down on my knee, and I can feel her put all her strength into making me stop. I do for her sake, but at least she can't hear my nails tapping on the underside of the seat.

Ivory walks off, replaced by Don. He's the first one to look remotely comfortable being ogled by the entire town like he's a piece of meat on auction—"_Do I have fifty?_"—but a second look reveals the same underlying fear created in the heat of nerves. The fear that they won't perform to the expectations of their coach, this town, or even themselves. Seeing that kind of fear in a seventeen year old almost makes me pity Don Billingsly and the rest of the football team. Almost.

I don't mean to stare. But my thoughts are drowning me and I'm more focused on them than where I'm looking. I can't fathom how he felt my eyes on him in this sea of people, but Don's sharp green eyes find my hazel ones, and when I realize he's looking back, I blink to "wake-up" than again when I realize he's still looking at me.

I keep expecting him to do something. But all he does is just hold my gaze to the point that I start fidgeting in my seat uncomfortably. I want to look away, I honestly do, but there's something in his eyes that holds my attention. I swallow nervously, not used to having the attention of a guy for so long. _Why the hell hasn't he been called off yet? Were the other guys up there this long?_

I can't take it. The intensity of his gaze mixed with the screams of the audience and the building heat of the room makes me feel clammy and sick. I practically jump out of my chair as if it electrocuted me, and I look down, breaking eye contact with Don. Apologizing profusely for jamming myself into people, I scoot through the tight space, ignoring the dirty looks.

The space where I should be able to walk freely is teeming by more people straining to see, with children on shoulders and adults on their tip-toes. I push my way through, but I stop excusing myself when I realize no one is giving me the time of day. When I finally reach the door, curiosity makes me look back, but Don has already walked off.

Feeling stupid and insecure, I push open the door and walk into the deserted hallway, the noise not much quieter despite the thick walls. But at least there's space and air. Walking a few steps away from the doors, I lean against the wall, suddenly wishing that I had both crutches because my legs won't support me, and one crutch doesn't hold dead weight very well. Sliding down, I sit on the cool floor and put my forehead on my knees just as the doors I just exited open up again.

"Hey, there you are," Stasia says. I look up, seeing her with LeAnn trailing behind her.

"Yes, here I am," I sigh. I look at Lee and ask, "Where were you?"

"My parents and I were closer to the action," she grins. "My mom wants pictures of Jerrod "making the McDougal family _proud_. I just happened to look back and see you leaving with Stasia trying to catch up to you."

I give her a sympathetic smile as she sits next to me. Stasia sits in front of her, grinning stupidly until I'm forced to ask, "What?"

"That boy was staring at you."

My throat tightens, although I don't know why. It's not like I did anything wrong, per se. But judging by the way I heaved-ho outta there and Stasia waggles her brows, it's hard to tell. LeAnn looks at me, and I roll my eyes, trying to play the entire situation off. "It's nothing, Don was looking in my direction—"

"He was looking right at you!" Stasia exclaims giddily.

"—probably trying to have eye sex with some girl behind more or something," I dismiss.

"Not true, I saw the _whole thing_," Stasia jumps up. She points at me, almost accusingly, but she's riddled with excitement. "He—Don—couldn't take his eyes off Clara. I swear to God, it's true!"

"Even if that's true, it doesn't _mean _anything," I stress, trying to get Stasia to lay off. LeAnn just stares at me, a slight frown on her soft features. "It doesn't," I whisper, but more so to convince myself. Biting my lip, I think back to the last conversation Don and I had, and I take a deep breath. I don't know boys, but surely Stasia and LeAnn could quench my confusion over Don's whole '_I-really-want-to-see-you-'round_' a week ago.

"Well…" I begin slowly, "there is _something _I want to ask you guys…"

I quickly rattle off my narration, from nearly falling over to driving off in a fury. Ever since Don "rescued" me, Stasia's mouth has been slowly falling open until it begins to scratch the floor, her eyes dinner plates. LeAnn's face remains impassive. When I finish, I take a deep breath, waiting for the worse.

"He's clearly trying to fuck with your head," LeAnn snaps.

"He, like, _wants _you, _so bad_! It's sooo adorable!"

They speak simultaneously and I wince at Stasia's girly shriek, and I'm honestly more for LeAnn's conclusion, because it simply enforces what I've assumed all this time. I don't want Don's attention. In fact, I don't want _anybody's _attention unless they're an Ivy League or host a Division I soccer or track program.

"_Pfft_," I dismiss with a wave of my hand. "Stasia, I'ma have to be with LeAnn on this one. Don isn't interested in girls like me."

Stasia frowns and slowly seats back down. "Girls like you?"

I shrug. I don't even know what I mean, I just know that it's true.

"Because you're half black, you think you're not good enough for him?" Stasia snaps.

"He'd be fucking lucky to have a girl like you," LeAnn agrees. "But you deserve better."

"_Guuuuuuys_," I whine, because this conversation is not going in the direction I wanted. I whimper and fall over at the waist, resting my head on the cool floor. Suddenly my head starts pounding worse than when I had the entire town screaming in my ears. Boys are such a taboo topic for me. LeAnn pats my thigh sympathetically. "He's _not interested_. Don wants one thing outta girls, and it involves so much more thrusting and grunting than I'm ready for."

"Tennis?" Stasia jokes, a light smile on her face. When I shoot her one of _those _looks, she smacks her lips impatiently and rolls her eyes. "Just say sex, Clara."

"I have no problem saying sex, or fucking, or screwing, or whatever the hell people call it now. All I'm saying is that sex is all he wants."

"What's wrong with that?" Stasia asks with a laugh.

I fall silent, a hot blush spreading across my olive-toned features. LeAnn coughs awkwardly from beside me, diverting her eyes to the suddenly fascinating row of grey lockers. I suck and nibble on the inside of my cheeks, aware of how suddenly the temperature seemed to drop in the hallway. _What's wrong with a guy only wanting sex, Clara? Hmm?_

Stasia realizes that she's the only one laughing and begins to fall silent. She looks confused, glancing from me to LeAnn, hyper aware of a memo she missed. "Wait…" she begins slowly, her eyes gaining a luminescent glow as a sudden realization came to her, "Clara, are you a _virgin_?"

"The whole school coulda told ya that," LeAnn mutters dismissively.

Shooting her the most murderous glare I could muster with a headache, I remain silent. They called me 'Mary'—as in the Virgin Mary—from eighth grade to tenth I recall to myself in a detached manner. I nearly shudder at the memories of what I consider the worst three years of my life. Dealing with the sordid jokes and taunting got slightly better once LeAnn and I started getting along, but I can still recall all the months afterwards I could smell salt on my sheets from all the crying I had done, despite numerous washings.

Stasia's face fell, and I could see her dainty Adam's apple bob uncertainly. She licks her lips and then gives me a strained smile. "There's nothing wrong with—"

I let out a bark of disbelieving laughter. I probably would've been fine with being a virgin thing if it hadn't been for those three painful years, but that's what college is for, right? And if not…well, I guess there's always women. Or being a Nun, which I'm already qualified for except I'm not Catholic.

"Clara, why the hell did you just run off like that?"

I look up, not having heard my mother and Veronica come out the feeding. Their faces seemed flush and their hair is sticking to their skin, especially on the forehead and neck. Both fan themselves dramatically with the programs, panting with the flair of a bulldog.

"Honestly Janie, I didn't quite care to watch men your age and up chanting like it was a f-ing Madonna tour gone wild."

"Don't be ridiculous," Janie snaps. Then she grins at me. "Maybe Rolling Stones."

I smile a genuine smile while Veronica stares at me, shocked. "You call your mother by her first name?" The hitch in her voice suggested that she thought it might be a southern custom.

"Mom makes her feel old," I state, and Janie nods. She's only thirty-four, popping little ol' me out at the ripe age of seventeen. Another reason the crazy-obsessed conservatives (everyone over forty) hated her: the daddy was white and apparently she was a whore—and there are plenty of people who make sure she remembers it, and I know where I came from.

Like her daughter, Veronica accepts this simply at face-value, and I'm really starting to appreciate this simple "don't ask don't tell" policy in the Queen Family. "Well, we should head home," Janie sighs. "LeAnn are you sticking around or do you need a ride home or do you want to stay the night?"

Janie's offer is unexpected, but no unheard of. Besides, it is Friday. I look at LeAnn expectedly and she says, "I'd like to stay over if it's no hassle." She is such a sweet-heart when she wants to be.

"Of course it isn't, just go let your mother know and we'll be waiting here."

LeAnn runs off and I turn to Stasia just as I see her and her mother make a move for the door. "Wait, Stasia, aren't you coming over?"

I didn't think much of my asking, but Stasia's eyes do that thing where they light up, and it dawns on me she thought I was going to exclude her. She looks from Janie to Veronica, and they both give her an affirmative smile. She squeals and throws her arms around me with more enthusiasm than I expected for someone simple going to spend the night at my house. But realizing how important this must be to her, I comply and uncomfortably but surely wrap my arm around her tiny frame, close enough to inhale her most-likely expensive perfume that I don't know the name of.

Early the next morning, while the sky is still dark and after Lee and Stasia have just fallen asleep, I lay awake in my sleeping bag, arms crossed behind my head as I stare up at the ceiling. I know I'm somewhere between sleep and a semi-conscious state: my eyes are open, but I don't really feel like I'm even in my own body.

I wonder what my first kiss might be like. Soft? Passionate? God-forbid, slobbery? All these questions, these innocent curiosities most girls get over by eighth grade, but I'm a senior in high school and couldn't begin to imagine what's so hot about a tongue getting shoved down my throat.

But then again, I could be fantasizing wrong.

I make myself close my eyes and I imagine all the romance films I've seen in my lifetime, where the kiss is so deep and passionate that any girl might wish to be kissed just like that one day. The way the man tenderly clutches the woman's cheeks as if she's the most fragile thing he could hold, but tightly as if he's afraid she might vanish. But like my Romeo & Juliet, it's just another work of fiction created to remind the saps like me that we have no one to caress and hold. I can only imagine what it must be like.

Hmm…must be nice.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The following is completely true (I swear):

About two weeks after the Feed, things went more-or-less back to normal. It's officially football season in Texas, and the Odessa could appear black and white from the spacecraft (ha, in more ways than one). Despite everything, I too am excited for the upcoming game against Midland on Friday, but I know I won't go. I never do, since James and I started quarreling. Now, I just settle for the live radio broadcast while I study or something.

Two weeks after the Feed, and my body is completely back to normal. (Hallelujah, praise the Lord!) My doctor gave me the all clear yesterday after school to remove the brace from my ankle. He checked where the skin had once been bruised and swollen, he checked my side for pain, but said I looked fine in both areas. Relief doesn't even describe how I feel. I feel ecstatic. Surely, everything that had happened since the attack would go back to normal now?

I didn't know what would happen with whatever the hell is going on between Don and me. Or not going on, I don' even freakin' know. All I know is that I want him to leave me alone, and I hope that the disappearance of my injures send me right back to where I was before on the interesting factor.

Right?

Aw, jeez. I can't be _this _weak. The first guy to really look at me and I'm just going to throw away everything I believe in? And of _course _said 'first guy' would be Don. That's just my own damn luck. His intentions are probably to see if he can make me the butt of some joke, and I'd rather take a beating again before I'm the school joke. Again.

Rather than continuing my mind-numbing tyrant, I crank up the volume on my cassette player, Michael Jackson's 'Dirty Diana' screaming into my eardrums until my eyeballs seem to vibrate in their sockets. Searching for a book that might assist me in my Calc studies, I scan the shelves, my finger running across each spine while I softly sing along to the lyrics that always manage to entice my attention.

I find a book that might contain what I'm looking for, and as I flip through the unused pages (the spine hasn't even been broken in) I slowly head back to my table. Slowly, because I simply want to enjoy having my foot back. As a bona-fide athlete, the very thought of being without my limbs is reason enough for nightmares. So as I take my seat at an empty table, I bounce my leg and rotate my ankle as I tackle calculus.

I'm not even an inch deep into the homework when I see, out of the corner of my eyes, a figure sit down at the chair beside me. Wary and curious, I pause my music and drop my headphones until they're around my neck.

"Don…why am I not surprised?"

And in a way, I'm really not. At the rate he keeps showing up, I half expect him to move into my house. I remove my headphones and toss them back into my bag. "Clara, this is going to sound really random but…will you go out with me?"

Exact words. Swear. To. God.

First, I stupidly look over my shoulder, truly expecting another Clara to be lurking behind my shoulder. Nothing. Damn. I look back at Don, literally speechless. This whole thing has really just gone too fucking far. But I couldn't find the heart to tell him off, because the shock hadn't worn off. Instead, I stand up and head towards the bookshelves, making like I forgot something important when really I just hope he'll leave.

Naturally, he doesn't.

"Wait…Clara…wait!"

Don catches up to me, and the second I feel his presence behind me I say softly, "No."

"Sorry, what?"

"No…I-I don't want to go out with you."

I don't look up. I don't look back. I stare at the stain in the carpet a few feet ahead, my heartbeat resonating loudly in the silence. There's no one here but us after all.

"Why not?"

I close my eyes, wondering to God why he didn't take a hint. I said 'no', do I need to spell it for him. Define it? Throw a book at his head? "Because I don't want to," I snap. I walk to the other side of the shelves and Don doesn't follow, but I feel his eyes on me through the books.

"You know that's not a real good excuse for turning me down," he retorts playfully. Clearly, he's not heartbroken or dying a little more inside at my rejection, so_ why the hell is he still here?_

I look up, exasperated, and slowly formulating how to nicely say, "Fuck off" when I freeze. Most of his face is cut off by the top of the books and the bottom of the shelf —I guess he's slouching, because he's too tall to be looking _right _at me like he is now—and all I can make-out at first glance is his eyes. He's staring right at me, just like he did at the Feed. Except this time I'm close enough to see his eyes watch me. They're completely steady and unwavering from my gaze. But besides that is how sharply the green contrast with his tan complexion. They're brighter than I thought them to be. By God…they're mesmerizing.

Wait…_mesmerizing_?

Laughing at myself, I duck my head and stare at the book titles engraved on the spines. My smile falters with the irony of finding my own Romeo & Juliet looking back at me. "Look, Don, we don't even know each other—"

"Um…Clara, that's the whole point of _dating_. To get to know each other."

That teasing enters his voice again, and I find it unbelievably irritating. Rolling my eyes, I walk from behind the shelves and back towards my table when Don runs ahead and cuts me off. "If you give me a good reason why not, I'll leave."

"I don't have to." I move to my left.

Don moves to his right. "Nope."

"I don't _want _to." I move to my right.

Don, once again, blocks my path to my table. "_Definitely _not feeling that one."

"Look, I don't know what kind of bet you made me your sick little—"

"Why," he starts loudly, cutting me off, "is it that you think I'm trying to fuck you over every time I try to hit on you."

"Is that what you call yourself doing?" I ask snidely.

He gives me that stupid grin of his. _Does nothing affect this guy?_ He ducks his head, and then he pulls the slickest move I've ever seen.

He looks up at me through his long, thick lashes.

"How 'bout just one date?"

I copy his stance, mirroring how he has both hands behind his back, looking up at him (literally since I'm only around five-six). "You're serious about this?"

He gives me an innocent smile with his pouty lips. Yeah, I said it. They're _pouty_, don't judge me.

There's a moment of weakness that my mind succumbs to in the silence. _Why not?_ Why not? _Why not?_ I want to believe that he has the purest of intentions, but…he's Don Billingsly. My very reputation could be branded 'Slut' if anyone happens to see how close we are now. The rumors that would circulate, the pressure to…what? To have sex? Yeah, I can just about anticipate that hurdle. Not to mention the booze, his whoring, and the whole 'jock' thing. I don't like jocks.

And yet…why the hell not?

Because…he's just not for me. God, I can't even imagine his idea of a date. I house party, surely, while I'm so drunk outta my mind I don't even realize he's trying to coax me out of my flower-print panties in the back of some dude's car.

Christ, what's _wrong_ with me.

I shake my head slowly, this weird feeling settling in the pit of my stomach that oddly doesn't feel much like relief. "I just…I can't. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry? I'M SORRY? For the hell what? I'll never know; I don't understand anything right now.

I push past him, not bother to excuse myself. My papers rustle in the ensuing silence as I stuff them in my bag. I just leave the library book on the table. I shoulder my bag and turn, stunned, to find Don already gone. Sadly, it was not the last time I saw him.

/

The day of the big game brings an anticipated buzz through the school hallways. Kids yell who's picking up whom and at what time across classrooms, gymnasiums, hallways, and the cafeteria. LeAnn agrees to take Stasia who, in my opinion, just wants to see Brian play. I note that Lee looks absolutely miserable at the idea of babysitting the New Girl to her first football game—("God, what if she starts cheering aloud for the _wrong team_?")—and after I assure her that Stasia's not a moron, I tell her to get over it.

"Then why don't _you _come to the game then," she retorts smartly.

I shoot her a don't-go-there glare just as we join Stasia at our usual spot in the cafeteria for lunch. Stasia, whom I hadn't seen all day, is geared up for her first game, dressed up in a black Permian Panthers tee the cheerleaders were selling to raise money for something I couldn't care less about. Her red and pink streaks are gone, replaced with black streaks. Her hair is pulled back with both a black and white ribbon. She has GO on one cheek and PERMIAN on the other. Even I've never shown that much enthusiasm and I've lived here all my life. Go figure.

"Hey, guys," she chirps brightly. I wish I could be that peppy, but it looks like a full-time hassle.

"What's with the get-up?" Lee questions, gesturing to Stasia's choice of attire and make-up.

"Just getting in the spirit," Stasia responds with a full-blown mega-watt smile. Me and Lee take our seats, and I listen calmly as Stasia goes into a monologue of how she's gonna catch Brian's attention at the game. Naturally, I'm reminded that I didn't tell either of them about Don asking me out. I could've, I knew that, but I figure if it's never spoken of, I would forget all about it. Besides, Stasia would never let me hear the end of it. (She already did MASH on scrap paper and figures that her "predictions" make me and Don and ideal couple. I'm sure she thought the same things about Othello and Desdemona, and look how well _that _ended. Surely, a sign of things to come if my luck keeps up at this rate.)

With no lesbian intentions meant, I can't help but ogle Stasia's chest as I eat. Her boobs are kinda in your face with the v-neck of the tee, and I faintly wonder who makes v-neck tees. I glance down quickly at my pitiful lumps (Janie loved taunting me and calling them "rosebuds"; I am not making this up) and faintly wonder if my life would've played out differently with actual boobs.

"Clara, are you sure you don't wanna come to the game with us," Stasia ask eagerly. The way her and Lee eye me, I feel like they're ganging up on me simply because they don't want to hang out with each other.

I give Stasia a wane smile. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be listening though, don't worry. I never miss a game."

We dig into our lunches, our silence quickly replaced by the chatter of the cafeteria. The few football players I can point out seem a little more silent and a little less…happy. I can't necessarily blame them. At least I get to have fun playing the sports I love. They might as well get paid, because in this town, football is a job, not an extra-curricular activity.

"_Heeeellooo_, lady," James drawls out sliding next to Stasia like the worm he so clearly is.

"Hi, Boobie," Stasia replies sweetly. God, why can't she just hate people like a normal teenager. All her niceness to James makes me feel guilty. (God, I almost couldn't think that with a straight face.)

"So, I see you coming to our game tonight. Gonna cheer for me as I score each touchdown?"

"Did it ever occur to you that someone _else _might—God-forbid it—_score_, besides you?" I interject irritably.

James cuts his eyes at me, his cocky demeanor disappearing quickly at my challenge. "I don't think I was talking to you, so mind your own damn business."

"I think you guys will do great," Stasia cuts-in weakly, but to no avail because we completely ignore her.

"I'm _just saying, _you're not the freakin' sun, the game does not revolve around you."

He snorts. "Do you even listen to the radio: Bobbie Miles is takin' Permian all the way to _States_. Me! Not anyone else and sure as hell not _you_, so why don't you crawl back to your Mommy and have her read your textbook to you!"

"Thank God, you _do _know what a textbook is. Quick, who was the first president of the United States?"

"_Pfftt_, man, fuck you, Clara!" He stands up heatedly, his voice growing loud and attracting the attention of nearby tables. He starts walking away, but because he's still throwing insults at me over his shoulder, I stalk his heels and here the nastiest words he's ever uttered at me:

"Just because you fuckin' jealous that I get all the attention and you nothin' more than Virgin Mary, the little kiss-ass that has no friends and probably hasn't even kissed a boy—!"

The second he turned around to face me turned into the biggest mistake of his life, because I slapped him so hard the crack of my palm hitting his cheek resonated through the cafeteria, silenced the conversations, and put all eyes on us. But I wasn't worried about that. No. I was worried about who might've possibly heard James' last comment. No, I wasn't worried about the fact that, for the first time, I laid a hand on my cousin. I'm more concerned with what everyone else thinks of me. My morals have hit an all-time low.

I put my finger in his face, my whole body quivering with a rage I only felt when Miss Jenkins called my mother a whore at the local market when I was ten. My eyes burn with humiliation, but I blink all possible tears away quickly and say, "I hope you fuck up at the game you arrogant bastard."

I leave in a rage, my steps the only thing I hear. It's only after I hear that James later injured his knee at the game that my last words register in my head. But by that point, the damage is already done.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

In an indignant rage, I refused to take part in my seasonal routine of listening to the football game play-by-plays on the radio. At this rate, I could care less if the team went to fucking States or not. Nevermind the fact that I keep glancing out my window to where Ratliff stands off in the distance, wondering what the score is; that's beside the point.

The lights seem like some sort of beacon, bright, tall, and captivating. In a metaphorical kind of way, they represented the closest thing to life in this town. And when they went out, so did the spirit of Odessa. For another week at least. Sighing, I close my blinds, but it doesn't help much. I'll just have to wait for the game to be over which…I check my watch and realize that it's technically over. It's a little past ten, and I know that when Janie comes home, I'll know the verdict.

Not that I care.

I head back downstairs to the living room—having gone up for a quick shower so I could jump into my pajamas—where my half-melted tub of cookie-dough ice-cream awaits me on the coffee table. The Cosby Show is on commercial. The second I move to sit back down on the couch, my doorbell rings. Janie has keys, so God forbid whoever the hell is on my porch at ten at night.

If it's the Texas Chainsaw killer, then it'll just be proof that I was Stalin in another life, and clearly paying for something.

But no, it's just Lee and Stasia.

"We won! Wewonwewonwewon…!"

I look at LeAnn while Stasia screams in excitement. "So…heard we won."

LeAnn rolls her eyes dramatically, but she gives me an enthused smile. "Yeah, we did. Weren't you listening?"

"Nah. Too pissed at _Boob_ to care…What's up?"

They both kinda fell silent for a moment. I give them a push to explain with my eyes. "Nothing," LeAnn shrugs. "We were just wondering, well, the kids from school are throwing a celebratory party by the oil rigs on the edge of town. Everyone's invited, so we came by to pick you up."

I snort. "You know I don't do parties, Lee, so don't even bother."

"Actually," Stasia says with a sweet smile, "you don't really have a choice."

/

"I look like a whore, I should _sue_."

"Relax, you look _hot_!" Stasia shouts enthusiastically. "Guys will be _dying _to get into your pants."

"Ohmigod, thank you Stasia, because that's just what I wanted," I respond sarcastically. Stuck in the back seat of Lee's Camaro, I glance down at their choice of attire and wince. I'm wearing stonewashed skinny jeans I honestly forgot I had in my closet after Janie bought them for my birthday a year ago. The tag had still been on, but they hugged my legs perfectly as if they had been bought yesterday. I don't even want to contemplate how the hell I'm getting out of them though—and contrary to Stasia's belief, it won't be with the help of a guy. I'm wearing a dark purple halter top—Janie's—that I've been trying to yank up for the past ten minutes. At least I get to wear my plain ol' Adidas.

Continuously running my fingers through my loose, ink-black waves, I try one more time to get out of this form of torture at the hands of my so-called "friends". "Guys, really, why can't we go somewhere else to hang out? You know I'm the class freak, they'll hate to see me there."

"Will you _relax_," Lee snaps. "Damn, you're more bitchy than my brother. And he's a fucking diva."

I huff indignantly and sit back, folding my arms across my chest. As Lee pulls up next to a group of cars, I can faintly see the signs of a…fire? Holy shit, is this a _bonfire _party. Great, now someone has the excuse of "accidentally" pushing me in.

"You really need to get out more," Lee says looking back at me as she shuts off the car.

"I know I do."

I reluctantly climb out the back, jogging to stay behind Stasia and Lee, literally trying to hide behind them and praying I can go through this night without running into Maria or any of her goons. I'm the person who would not be caught dead at a party, and I can already hear the ridicule that would accommodate my sudden appearance tonight.

The Texas night is cool enough that the bonfire doesn't seem suffocatingly hot. Glancing from side to side, I make note that nearly half the school does seem to be here, drinking and dancing to a song being blared from several of the cars parked in a circle around the fire tuned to the same station. There's laughing and talking, and when I realize people are too hyped from the game to pay me any mind, I allow a bit of tension to leave my shoulders.

"Let's go find something to drink," Stasia suggest with a bright smile and a laugh.

I follow her despite the fact that I don't drink, and when she shoves the lukewarm beer in my hand, I tell her so. "Oh, live a little, Clara," she scolds. Then she tilts her head back and chugs nearly half her bottle.

"Damn, New York, that's impressive," Brian says with a cheeky grin. Stasia responds with a flirtatious kiss in his direction and he laughs. The faint sparkle in his brown eyes tells me he's already had a bit to drink. "Hey, Clara, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Faintly aware that I'm holding a beer in my hand, I nod stupidly and say, "Sure."

He pulls me aside a couple of feet, his hand warm on my bare arm. "Don told me he asked you out the other day—"

I groan, kicking a few empty red, plastic cups away from my feet and off into the distance. "God, what does he want now?"

Brian smiles at me, I think amused. "You really don't wanna go out with him, do you?"

"No."

He laughs. "You know, he's not gonna stop."

I frown. "Sorry?"

"He's not gonna stop asking you until you say 'yes'." I just look at him, and Brian sighs before launching into a NASA-worthy explanation. "You told him 'no'. Clara, you are probably the first girl in Permian Panther High School history to turn Don down, and he doesn't take 'no' well. You're a _challenge_. He wants you more now than he did before."

I doubt I'm the first girl with proper morals to tell him 'no', but I don't tell Brian this. "Uh…huh. Is that a guy thing?" (I honestly think that is a good question.)

"I'm just letting you know," Brian says with an innocent shrug. Then he grins at me. "You look _really_ hot tonight, by the way. You should wear your hair down more often."

Brian leaves me, blushing and grinning like a school-girl, to talk to Stasia. My smile begins to fade as the point of his pulling me aside begins to sink in. I stare at the bonfire, the kids dancing around it and having an all-'round good time, I wished I was home, sleep or watching TV with Janie.

"You don't strike me as a beer-kinda-girl."

"That's because I don't drink it," I respond curtly. I set the beer on the trunk of some car. Someone will enjoy it eventually. "What do you want, Don?"

"Jeez, I just came over to say that there are no hard feelings despite you turning me down. I forgive you."

"Uh…huh."

"But it's not too late to change your mind."

"Good God, man, save it. I don't want to go out with you."

Don comes to stand directly in front of me, his eyes boring into mine to the point that I have to look down. But he grabs my chin and forces my gaze up. "Look at me and say it."

"_What_?"

"Look me in the eyes and say that you honest-to-God have no interest in going on just _one _date with me."

_Is he serious_? "I—"

"Wow, you have some fucking nerve showing your face around here."

I close my eyes in distress, praying it's not Maria. I turn around. It is. "Well you know what they say, Maria: 'This land is your land…'"

"You know you ruined the entire fucking season for us, you stupid whore."

"Whoa, Maria, cut it out," Don snaps in a surprisingly sharp tone.

_Whoa now. Crazy-white-she-devil just called me a _what? "Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Maria—" Don begins harshly.

"Boobie injured his knee during today's game. Interesting, considering what you told him today in the cafeteria."

_Knee injury_. I think back to the awkward pause between LeAnn and Stasia when I mentioned my cousin. I turn to find them looking at me, guilt ridden across their faces. Knowing my cousin injured himself they bring to this goddamn party where I'm bound to get called out by my earlier comment. I can feel my look of accusation laced with hurt. They practically threw me to the fucking lion's den without having the decency of enlightening me to my supposed crime. "I'm not a fucking witch," I retort, turning back to Maria. "If he injured his knee than he pulled some shit he wasn't supposed to. Not my problem."

"Oh, but you see, it is," Maria coos in a manner that sends chills up my spine. The last time I heard her take that tone with me was eighth grade, the same year she, for some reason, became my personal hell on earth. I'm vaguely aware that a small crowd is forming around us, beers inches from the lips that pause drinking to whisper excitedly behind hands. "If your stupid curse costs Permian the Championships, you're so dead."

And then, as if to emphasis her point, she takes the remaining beer in her red cup and tosses it in my face. I'm aware of Lee screaming obscenities while Maria howls with laughter. The disgusting stench of beer fills my nose and that wet grass taste is all I can feel on my tongue. It's in my hair, staining my clothes, and sticking to my skin. But I can't really move, utterly horrified and dangerously aware that my eyes are burning from more than just the alcohol in them.

There's chaos in front of me: LeAnn is trying to get at Maria, and it takes Brian, Don, and Stasia to keep the girls off each other. In the confusion, I slip away, pushing past a few bodies and heading for the main road that'll take me home. I don't care to wait for a ride; I just need to get home as soon as I can.

My quickened pace slows as I get further from the party. Suddenly, I hate myself. I hate my inability (on more than several occasions) to defend myself. Never, not once, have I stood up for myself. I've always had Janie or LeAnn for that. I'm a total coward. I deserved to get beer thrown in my face, but I don't do anything to stop it.

Crossing my arms over my chest I swallow the urge to dry-heave into the dead grass. I shiver in the cool breeze, quickening my pace so I can get out of my beer-stenched wet clothes. When I'm bathed in headlights from behind, I'm kinda surprised Lee took so long. However, the petty side of me wants to say half of this is her fault, so I'm more than prepared to tell her that I'm walking home.

But a car I don't recognize pulls up beside me, and when the voice that's becoming my living nightmare calls out, "Hey Clara," I keep walking.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Don calls out. I hear his car shut off, but just as I'm making my way across the street towards town, he cuts me off. "Do you need a ride?"

"Nah, I think I'll walk."

"Clara, you live on the other side of town," he explains.

"So?"

"So?" he mimics. "That's nearly ten miles. Are you seriously about to walk ten miles simply because I'm your only other transportation option?"

"I'm considering it?"

I move past him, shoving his shoulder in a manner that conveys "Leave me the hell alone" without words.

"Clara, I'm…"

His voice barely comes above a whisper. But he should've kept my name off his lips, because now I'm even more pissed-off. Tears spilling over my lids, I try to cover up the fact that I'm crying with anger, which doesn't take much effort really. "Don't you fucking dare." Turning, I throw an accusatory finger in his face, raising my voice to try to hide how it cracks, but I don't succeed. "Don't you dare apologize. Don't you dare pity me. God knows you're the _last _person I want pitying me. So thanks for the offer, but _I will take care of myself_."

There's a moment of silence where Don just looks at me. "It's just a ride home, Clara. It's non-binding, swear."

I look down at my feet, a little ashamed at my outburst. Covering my wet eyes with my hand, I take deep shuddering breaths, my brain trying to reason with itself. _He just wants to help, that's all. Just helping, completely harmless. _Finally, I shrug. "Yeah…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."

Walking quickly before I talk myself out of it, I climb into the passenger side of the car, trying to kick a couple of water bottles out my foot space. "Sorry 'bout the mess," Don says with a nervous cough. "I usual don't get a lot of girls in my car."

I look at him curiously. "Why does that surprise me?"

He looks so offended I actually laugh. Well, it's more of a chuckle, but same thing. "Just kidding," I retract defensively. I pick up a bottle as he starts the car. "Can I borrow these?"

He just looks at me, so I climb out the car, and bend forward at the waist, dumping whatever amount of water is in the bottles on my head. I wash the stickiness off my skin and try my best to at least dilute the smell of beer until I can wash my hair. Then I pull my thick strands together as if I'm making a ponytail before twisting it and then twirling it into a bun, tucking the end as tight as it will go. I'd rather have a band or something to hold it together, but I never assumed I would get beer thrown in my face either.

When I slam the door shut Don immediately pulls away from the curb, heading into town. I stare out my window, glancing up at the clear, dark sky. It never dawned on me that I'm positively famished until my stomach lets out this loud sound that sounds like a muffled burp. My face flushes and I tuck my lips together. I glance over at Don who's staring at me and trying his damnest not to laugh.

"Are you hungry, Clara?"

"Shut up."

But he lets out a snort before busting out laughing and I don't know if I'm laughing at myself or at his response, but either way I have my temple to my fist and I can't stop smiling. "Hey, I know this great diner that's open twenty-four seven, you wanna grab a bite to eat?"

I bite my lower lip nervously, I wonder if he means as a date or as…friends? Acquaintances? I don't really care, I am hungry. I shrug, as if it's no big deal. "Sure."

He looks at me, his face impassive and most likely surprised I said 'yes'. "Wait…" I begin, and he nods, as if he expected this, "I don't have any money on me—"

"It's fine, I have enough to cover the both of us."

"No, really, at least drop me off so I can grab my wallet."

"Seriously, Clara, it's fine. I don't mind paying."

"Yeah, but—"

He pulls over in front of some house on the corner, shutting off the engine and turning to look at me. The only lighting comes from the dim streetlight on the other side of the road. I notice how particularly silent the neighborhood is, so when Don starts talking, it sounds obnoxiously loud. "You're really trying to fight me on this?"

"It's common courtesy, Don; I'm not fighting you on anything."

"Then why won't you just let me pay?"

"Because…because…"

I stumble on my thought process. Biting my lip and scrunching my brows like I've been asked a difficult question. "It's not rocket science, Clara."

I turn my head and he's hunched forward, forearms resting on the top of the steering wheel. He's staring straight ahead, giving me a pretty good look at his profile. Something in his voice makes me wonder if we're still talking about who's paying, but I can't be sure because he's not looking at me and what I can make-out is nothing but stoic.

"I know," I respond softly, my stomach fluttering with nerves. "But no one's ever offered to pay for me; I'm not use to the idea that someone would want to."

Now he looks at me. "No one?"

I shake my head, and I curl my lips in a smile that's meant to portray my indifference, but it doesn't last. "Guess I was just never worth paying for?"

My cheeks flush, and I know by the way he's looking at me he realizes we're not really talking about money. "Well if it's any consolation," he says slowly, "a girl like you is worth every penny."

Hook line and sinker. Damn, he's gooood.

"How many times has that worked?" He just looks at me innocently. I smile. "Thanks, Don."

He gives me a nonchalant shrug, but his smile is sincere. He flops back in his seat, but I guess the aged piece couldn't handle the sudden weight because it fell back, taking all of Don with it as he lets out a surprised "oomph". I bust out laughing at all his long limbs flailing to right himself. His face is red as he manages to sit up; forced to yank on the chair until it's righted in its proper position. I can't breathe, laughing so hard that there is zero inhaling.

"It's really not that funny," he laughs.

I nod my head, my eyes watering. I gasp, my lungs letting out a _Hail, Mary_ at the sudden oxygen intake. "Yeah, it really was."

"You think so?"

I nod.

"You know, I think that seat is broken too…"

He throws himself across my lap, and the second I realize he's going for the lever on my right, I let out a shriek. "Nooooo," I laugh, fighting his hands for control. I can hear his laughter in my ears, ringing with their deep yet charismatic sounds. "Cheater!" I scream when he wraps his arm around my waist, pinning one arm to my side. When I realize his inches from the lever on the side, I put my feet on the side of the door and push back. Catching him off guard, he topples backwards until his body is thrown across all three seamless front seats, me right on top of him. I laugh even harder.

It takes me a few seconds for my high to come down, leaving both of us silently trying to catch our breaths in the semi-darkness of his car. I can feel that my hair is a complete disarray, torn from its holding on my head by our fooling around. And as my breathing slowly falls back to normal, I realize that so has Don's because I can feel his chest moving up and down considering it's where the back of my head is resting. His arms are still wrapped around my middle, and I innocently notice how years of football seem to have blessed Don with lean, toned arms. His muscle definition is…impressive. And I can really feel how defined his chest and stomach is through his tee. A slow blush creeps across my flesh when I pay attention to how my body's laid out between his legs. Our positions somehow look oddly…sensual. At least to me they do.

Is it weird that I don't really want to move?

I want to blame it on the fact that this moment, right here, marks the closest I've ever been to a guy. His hot breath in my ear sends shivers up my arms and back, and his large arms wrapped around my torso feel oddly comforting.

"Clara…?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you should move." His voice sounds strained or breathless…or maybe both.

There's a moment of silence where his words replay themselves in my head. I don't even have time to take into consideration how much of a dumb ass I feel like right now. His arms fall to his sides, and the area they once occupied seems suddenly colder—as does the rest of the atmosphere in the car. I sit up and Don lets out a miserable groan, clutching my hips tightly. "God, Clara…"

"What?"

I look at him, absolutely furious, when something in his face makes me pause. I can't really describe it because it's not a face I'm used to seeing. His features look twisted somehow, but I can't really tell why…

_Oh. My. God. _

I can feel…_it_. Oh Jesus God, I mean Christ, I can feel it pushing against the back of my upper thighs. "Oh God, I am so sorry!" I panic, scrambling off his lap and into the passenger seat while Don pulls his legs back. I don't know who's face is more red, mine or his.

"Clara…I'm sorry, I didn't mean."

"No, I know it's not your fault. You're a guy, I'm sure it happens randomly all the time…"

Don sits up, licking his lips nervously. As he turns to face the front again, as I ask, "Do you want me to leave—?"

He frowns and looks at me. "What? No, of course I don't—"

"—Because I can, if this is awkward or anything. I didn't mean to…"

_Give you an erection_, I finish in my head.

"Clara…"

His voice is so soft I feel my eyes burn. This is the worst night of my life. God, I can already hear his explanation. _It happens all the time, it wasn't you, it's me. _Ha! That's probably where they coined the ever-popular saying: _It wasn't you…it was me._

"What?" I whisper, trying to keep my voice from cracking. My fingers stroke the handle, waiting to make a run for it if need be.

He sighs dramatically. "It wasn't random…okay?"

"Your point?"

"My poi—Clara, I _like you_! Not on a bet, not on a joke. It's just me here and I honest-to-God really like you! I don't get _these _things for just anybody."

I feel sick. I mean, I feel literally sick. Don Billingsly is not supposed to be declaring himself to me in his car. "I need air," I breathe.

I throw open my door, holding my stomach and welcoming the cool breeze that slaps me in the face. It wakes me up and clears my head. I shut the door behind me, leaning on the side of the car, palms on the cool metal. I hate that I realize that I'll never lay down again without thinking of Don underneath me.

That doesn't sound right.

A single tear falls down my cheek and I take a deep shuddering breath. I'm living every girl's fantasy. A boy—a cute, charismatic, charming, fun guy at that—is telling me he likes me. So why am I so upset? I hear his door slam and I take another breath, ready for an onslaught of questions. He comes to stand beside me, mirroring my stance.

"It's not you," I begin gently. "I just…I'm not used to holding someone's attention unless they need homework answers. You're the first guy to ask me out and…that really freaks me out."

"Clara—"

"And quite frankly I don't think the two of us would make a good couple. I'm a huge mess and the entire town practically hates me and—no offense—but you're not exactly boyfriend material."

"Ouch, what's that supposed to mean?"

I just look at him pointedly.

"I'm not that bad," he argues.

I gather the courage to turn my head and look at him. He's gazing off into the distance, his features slack but his shoulders oddly stiff. "Why should I believe you?"

He lets out a sigh of surrender, dropping his head until he's staring at the sidewalk. "What would it take for me to convince you I'm worth one date?"

_I really wish I knew_.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Well Maria is back to her old tricks. I don't know how she always rallies so many people on her side, but it's infuriating. And humiliating. On Monday she somehow convinced a few people to scream "Witch" whenever I was around, and on Tuesday—as I exited the cafeteria because I had to dump some things in my truck—an egg was thrown at me. It missed and landed on the wall beside me, but the message was clear as crystal.

And that's not even the worse part.

About a week after my last conversation with Don, I never saw him again. Fine and dandy, it's probably better that way. Right?

Wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong!

Because on Monday (the Monday after Maria tried to modernize the Salem Witch Trials) he shows up to school in jeans and a dark blue polo (both ironed, I might add), no hat, and he practically avoids eye contact with everybody except Brian and Mike.

Naturally, my first response is to spit out my water on some poor sophomore who's unfortunate enough to get the locker beside me. They scurry away, thinking it's some form of a senior prank. Poor sap. As I'm staring, dumbfounded, at the floor with my water bottle still in hand, LeAnn comes up behind me and says, "What's with Don's getup. Who's he trying to impress?"

"Who knows," I squeak.

Sadly, Stasia is not as obtuse as LeAnn, because while I'm in the library during my free period, she bombards me in the Renaissance Era.

"Don looks really nice today," she says "conversationally".

"Why aren't you in class?" I inquire as I flip through the celebratory end to the Black Plague.

"Why aren't _you_ scoping out Don?"

"You can't answer a question with a question."

"_Clara_! I'm not fucking retarded, I know he dressed up for you. And word in the bathrooms is that he didn't drink or screw _anybody_ at some party this past Saturday!"

She looks at me, big, blue eyes hopeful and wide with my approval. "It was just one time, Stasia," I mutter.

"Yeah, but it's one time more than he's ever done for any girl!" I give her a look and she raises one shoulder. "That's what someone wrote in one of the stalls anyway."

"Nice, so your evidence is writing on the wall?"

"No, he's six foot tall, gorgeous, and dressed up in a freakin' _polo_. _An ironed polo_. Why don't you give him a chance? You might learn to really like him."

"That's not the problem alone, Stasia," I argue.

"What isn't?"

"_Liking _him," I admit. She gasps and her eyes scream _Details!_ but I suck on the inside of my cheek, wondering how much I care to reveal. "'Cause I do," I continue. "He makes it hard not to." I shake my head. "But like I told him already, it would never work. The whole school is practically spitting on me because they think James' injury is my fault. Can you imagine what the _town_ would do to me if I start dating one of their precious "white" kids?"

A look of hurt and even a bit of disgust crosses over her once enthused features. I snort in retaliation. "Don't give me that 'I Can't Believe You' look, Stasia," I scold.

"I just don't see how race plays into a fucking date with a guy who genuinely seems to like you."

"You wouldn't understand," I snap, slamming the book back on the shelf so forcefully that the whole thing quivers.

"Then explain it to me, because I'm really confused."

"Of course you are!" I didn't mean to raise my voice, and I lower it dramatically before someone hears. "You've been in Texas—hell, you've been in the _South_—for two months, Stasia. Two! You can't possibly fathom the racism that goes in these states. And even if you were _aware _you wouldn't really _know _because look at _you_!"

I gesture to her, and my eyes feel wide and crazed. God, I would hate to see myself in a mirror right now. "And I'm literally stuck in the middle," I continue. "The black kids here are under the impression that I think I'm better than them, and the white kids hate all blacks, no matter what freakin' percentage you are!"

"Not all of 'em," she whispers, her eyes wet.

I slump my shoulders. "No, not all of them," I admit after a brief pause, "but enough of 'em to make my life a living hell if anyone even sees me talking to Don. Janie, she's strong enough to put up with the slurs and insults, but…I'm just not, okay? It's just easier for me if we don't try." I twist my foot on the rough carpet, staring at my shoes with a bit of shame at my cowardice. "I just don't know how to tell Don."

Suddenly, we both hear the library door slam shut. I look up just to see a figure stalking away from the library, shoulders hunched over as if not wanting to be seen. It doesn't take a genius to know who would be up at the library at this time.

"Looks like you already did," Stasia whispers.

/

When I got home from school, miserable, guilt-ridden in the worst way possible, and exhausted, Janie's tear-stained face in the living room did not make my day in better.

"You left your notebook here," Janie says with a sniff. Her voice croaks, and I realize she's been crying for a while.

Frowning in confusion, I drop my bag on the floor against the wall before making my way to the coffee table where her finger is pointed. It is, indeed, my notebook, flipped open to the drawing that had disturbed me the day I saw Stasia walking across the courtyard a brand-new face to Odessa.

"I needed a piece of paper for message I was taking," Janie explains in a somber voice that cracks often. "God…Clara, is this how you really feel?"

I stare at the heavy lines, shaded in to the point that the grey lead appears black. The obvious shape of a figure curled up in a dark corner that disturbed me two months before have Janie hanging by a thread.

I also realize this is the chance to tell her everything. Tell her what happened the morning I was attacked. And as I gaze into her wide, scared, brown eyes, I almost do. She worries about me all the time, I know it. And I also know that I never make things easy on her, the way I curl myself into a tight protective ball just like the figure in my picture. This is the chance to uncurl myself, to release all my fears and insecurities on her because that's why she's here: for me.

But I know I won't tell her. It won't make a difference who knows the truth, because there will be no swift action in my honor. I can only make things worse. And I can't put all my problems on her.

"No," I lie with a gentle, fake smile plaster on my face. I'm burning in hell after I die. "Janie, I was just doodling one of the kids at school—"

"_Don't you _dare _lie to me_, Clarabelle," she screeches. I literally jump out of my skin, taken aback by the sudden increase of hostility in her voice. "I…you know what, forget it. When you're ready to talk—_honestly_—come find me."

She brushes past me, stomping down the hall to her bedroom and slamming the door like a child. I cringe as the hollow _Slam! _echoes across the now silent house, and my face burns with one more pound of shame added to my already slumped shoulders. The awkward silence Janie leaves behind prompts me to grab some spare change out my bag and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I grab my car keys, prepared to head anywhere.

Thirty minutes of aimless driving and dry heaving brings me to Al's Diner on the edge of town, and I wonder if this is what Don was talking about all those nights ago. Wiping the corner of my eyes where my tears had burned but not fallen, I sniff as I cut off my engine and climb out into the dry heat.

Inside, the AC briefly chills my hot flesh before my body finds a way to adapt to the change in temperature. Wishing I had brought a jacket with me, I walk with my head down to an empty booth by the large windows facing the parking lot. Pushing my hair back from my face, I hold back a scream as an older waitress hollers, "Hey, Sweetie-pie, what can I get you?"

I blink. "Umm, I've never actually been here before…"

"A _newbie, _eh? Well, Miss ol' Carol gonna take _real _good care o' ya."

She scurries off and in less than a minute is back with a menu and rattling off the day's specials. My mind is trying to process everything at once, and when she finishes off, she takes a deep breath and grins. "You got all that, Sweetie-pie?"

"I'll have the bacon double cheese-burger with double fries and I'll wash it down with a coke, little ice, and for desert can I get the special apple pie with a scoop of vanilla and a cup of coffee."

She just laughs. "I'm impressed, Newbie. Say, who's chil' do you belong to?"

"Uh, Janie Baker."

"You Clarabelle?"

"Yes ma'am."

She gives me a sweet smile. "You're order'll be up in sec, Sweetie-pie."

Ten minutes later a plate of foot is slid in front of me with Carol assuring me that she'll bring my desert out when I've finished. She inquires if I'm sure I'll be able to finish everything, but with years of sports, I have a stomach the size of a soccer ball. I dig in, eating slowly and watching the sun lower itself to the top of the houses. I don't mind staying out because the last thing I want right now is to go home.

"You know, I usually cry into Mr. Whiskers. Always makes me feel better."

I blink in surprise. And I only realize the comment is directed at me when I feel the wet trail on my cheeks. I wipe my face, laughing off my total humiliating at crying in a diner. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Don't apologize for being human, Sweetie-pie."

She gives me a toothy smile and I return it appreciatively. "Well, this outta brighten your day—or what's left of it anywho—but a young regular of mine wanted me to hand you this."

She slips a folded napkin into my hand, curling my fingers over the soft fabric as if I held a key to saving the world and must protect it with my very life. She winks, under the assumption that it's a flirty, dirty message. Oh Miss Carol, if only you knew me.

I give her a quick, "Thanks" and she scurries off to wait tables. Hesitantly, I unfold the carefully folded napkin, still sniffing. Taking a deep breath, I stare at the unfamiliar writing.

_WE NEED TO TALK. MEET ME AROUND BACK_.

Closing my eyes, I realize it's Don. My guilt from him having overheard my excuses earlier washes over, and I realize I can't bail. I quickly tell Carol to hold my table and that I'll be back momentarily. She happily agrees, probably under the impression that I'm rendezvousing with a hot lover or something. If only.

I slide out the cushioned booth and head around back. The parking lot is oddly quiet. My heart hammers in my chest and I turn the corner of the metal building and step into the cool shade. In the seconds it takes for my eyes to adjust to the contrast, he has me pinned up against the wall, squeezing my jaw with his large fingers and his other hand grips my throat tightly.

"Who the fuck have you told?"

Stunned into silence, I don't answer right away, but instead gasp at the pressure on my neck that isn't choking me, but is enough to hurt like a bitch.

"Answer me, you fuckin' mutt."

"No…body," I breathe, my voice shaking in a panic. Dare I scream? As if reading my mind, his fingers tighten on my neck. "I swear." My voice only comes out above a whisper.

"Yeah? And why the _fuck _has Billingsly been dicking around?"

"I'm—," His fingers squeeze into the kind of grip that promises death, and I know this is his warning to tell the truth. "—his tutor," I finish, sobbing so hard that my salty tears start mixing with the snot that drips out my nose.

He sniffs. He tosses me to the ground. I just barely have time to put out my hands to catch myself. "Fucking disgusting," he spits, glaring at me. "You fuckin' tell anybody what happened, I'll fuckin' kill ya." I just curl up, praying to a God I believe less in every day that he'll go.

He does.

As quick as he came, he's gone. I vomit beside me and just lay there, puke inches from my face and I don't really care. My throat burns from his touch. Curling onto my knees, I make such a shaky way to my feet that I marvel briefly in how a baby feels taking its first steps. My knees barely hold my weight, and I actually stumble towards the ground, letting out a pained sob of utter distraught and humiliation.

Walking to my truck, I feel violated, the sanctity of my mind shattered the instant he laid hands on me a second time. And once again, I failed to protect myself. I wasn't asking for him to come after me. I didn't do anything. Why? Why couldn't he leave me alone?

Reaching my truck, it takes me a minute to find my keys in my pockets. My fingers shake so bad that I drop them several times into the sand. When I finally have a firm grip on the keys, I realize I can't even see. My vision is blurred to the point of blindness and I begin thrusting desperately into the air, the heavy ping resonating in my ears each time I only manage to scratch my truck.

"Come on," I scream between clenched teeth. "God, fuck, come…on!"

In despair, I sink to the dirt, tossing my keys to the ground in surrender. No one comes out and asks if I'm okay. I wonder if they even care. And as I duck my head into my arms, crying a fucking river into the dry town that so badly needs it, I wonder if he did me a favor by keeping me alive. Because the worst thing about surviving is realizing that no one else cares or knows that you even did.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I hope I doing this right, because that means I've finally figured out this blasted website. No judgie, but I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to type my disclaimer (BTW: I don't own FNL) or to thank all of you for your reviews and alerts. I'm sure I look like a thankless author, but I'm not. Me and technology just have an unbalanced relationship. So thank all of you for you reviews (even if I haven't commented on them yet, know that I love reading them) and patience :) I hope you all enjoy Ch. 8!**

**[Fall 1988]**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

After about fifteen minutes of applying, smudging, reapplying, and smudging the concealer along my jawline and throat, I deemed myself presentable enough to attend school. It had been hell trying to sneak myself into my bedroom with a newly purchased thing of makeup considering if Janie had busted me: 1) I would have to explain why I was taking the initiative to buy makeup when the most I ever put on my face is chapstick, and 2) she would see the finger-shaped bruises that I was working to hide. I hadn't even realized the marks were there until I was halfway home from the diner and happened to look up at myself in the rearview.

Sighing, I tucked the makeup up my sleeve so that I could return it to its proper spot tucked behind a book on my shelf. Janie and I were avoiding each other like the plague after my little disappearing act, and I wouldn't put it past her to sneak into my room praying she wouldn't find evidence of depression or thoughts of suicide. She was overly dramatic, but she always meant well.

I looked at myself in the mirror, stroking my bangs in an attempt to get them to lie flat…er. They were the only pieces of hair not violently yanked back into the ponytail lying flat along my back. I briefly thought about cutting the locks that fell to the middle of my back: they were nothing but a hassle during the soccer season, and they seemed to act as beacons whenever I was in public. It wasn't my honey-toned skin or vibrant eyes…no, it was this damn hair.

I pulled my hair over my shoulder without taking my eyes off myself. I could do it. I could cut my hair. It would take some time for Janie and my friends to get used to, but they'll get over it. But I knew I never would. No. Cutting my hair might bring unwanted attention, and with my injures healed and gone, I was _thisclose _to returning to my invisible existence. Besides, sometimes the length could almost act as a shield if I wore my hair down; over my shoulders, I could only see ahead of me. The end of the semester loomed closer, bringing graduation that much closer. God, I could almost taste the freedom. Surely, once I leave here, everything would get better. It just _had _to.

Throwing my hair back to its place down my back, I take a deep breath. "Just a few more months, Clara," I whisper in my own little mental pep-talk. "Just keep your nose clean." I wanted to laugh at myself. I had to be the most ridiculous person in the world.

Stepping out into the hallway, soft snores drift in and out my head from Janie's room. Must be nice to sleep in. But she worked the graveyard shift at the Walmart and had to report to her secretarial position at the firm in Midland Lee in a few hours. I smiled, leaning against the frame and just listening to her sleep. She didn't deserve what I had put her through…what I _still _put her through.

Grabbing my things at the door, I throw my strap on my shoulder and leave silently, making sure to lock up tightly before heading to my truck. My neighborhood was silent as the grave, so I felt pretty bad starting my engine as its roar filled the air. But I used the drive time to prep myself into staying calm during school. Sure, I see him in the hallways and cafeteria, but we have no classes together. I just need to make sure I don't make any sudden movements that might give me away.

/

I used to believe that I was a pretty transparent person. Wearing my emotions on my sleeve and all that jazz. But as the morning progressed into the warm afternoon no one seemed to notice the sudden appearance of make up, or that I seemed jumpier than usual. I thought I was being obvious. I guess not.

And I'm not sure how that makes me feel.

On one hand, I don't want word of a second attack spreading around school again. I really don't. That kind of infamy is still weighing heavily on my mind from the first round, and if it happens again, people would likely assume I did it to myself for the attention. (Because the people at my school are, honest-to-God, that moronic.) But I want the people who are supposed to care about me (or say that they do) to just know me well enough and tell when I'm upset. I know it's not fair to be that expectant of them, but it's how I feel.

Lee and Stasia are prime examples if only because of the fact that they left me to fend for myself in the lunchroom. Stasia's meeting me later but she had to run to meet with a teacher and Lee's cheating off a boy in her physics class for a homework assignment. I suppose I could've eaten lunch in a classroom due to the fact that food and drink were prohibited in the library, but truth be told, it's just as easy for me to sit here alone and read my—

"Hey, Clara, mind if we join you?"

The fruit speared on my plastic fork pauses halfway to my awaiting mouth as I glance up, stunned to find Brian grinning at me. I gap like a fish, the word "No" nearly out of my mouth when I swallow it back down. Instead, I ask, "We?"

"Cool."

He sits down, and I'm about to protest when out of the blue, Mike Winchell sits beside me, shooting me what seems to be an apologetic smile. "Hey, Clara."

I love his slow, southern drawl. "Hi, Mike," I say softly.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

I look up and blush at Don's emotionless stare. He hasn't really said or done anything since my little overheard outburst in the library, but since my attack, I haven't the nerve to at least apologize. Besides, this is what I want. Distance.

I nod in quick, short increments, almost spastically really. "Yeah, yes, of course."

He ducks his head and sits down beside Brian. They eat calmly, as if this is something we do every day. I, however, can't help but notice that sudden stares from our peers, and I feel my palms become sweaty and I swallow nervously.

Just as I formulate some kind of question as to what the hell they're doing, Brian opens his mouth (full of fries) and says, "How've you been, Clara?"

"Why?"

I didn't mean to sound defensive or petulant, but for me, I always expect an ulterior motive. Clearly Brian senses this, because he frowns before covering it up with an amused laugh. "Because I haven't seen or spoken to you in ages!"

I feel my hairline sizzle. "Right, of course. I'm fine, great even. Fantastic. And you?"

He smirks and I flush again. "I'm good, Clara."

Not wanting to seem rude, I turn to Mike. "And what about you? How have you been, Mike?"

He nods as if trying to reassure my discomfort. He probably would understand better than anyone. "I've been good, Clara. Real good."

I give him a nervous smile. God, this is all so awkward. Why are they here? "Good."

We fall silent and I'm staring at my fruit salad stupidly, wishing the table would swallow me whole and quickly. "Aren't you gonna ask me how I've been?"

My attention span stumbles and my gaze jerks until it lands on Don. "What?"

"Well, you asked Chavo and Mike here how they've been but not me."

A proper response to his gentle accusation evades me. So naturally, I go for the next best thing: "Oh, well, of course. I didn't mean anything…it must've slipped my mind. I'm…so sorry…"

We just look at each other, silent understanding passing between us as he ducks his head down and then looks back up at me, once again, up through his lashes. I don't know how long we sit like that, but Brian suddenly calls out, "Hey, what's up?"

My gaze jerks from Don and instinctively towards the edge of the table. I look at his face for a moment before a chill washes over me, forcing my eyes down. I feel myself wanting to curl up but I stop myself. _Act normal and he'll go away. Act normal and he'll go away._ Suddenly, the bruises on my neck seem to burn.

"Nothing much, Brian, just got a message from Coach for the players."

_You're that Baker Girl, right?_

"Shoot."

"Just that practice is being pushed back an hour while the paint on the field dries for this week's home game."

_What are you doing out here by yourself._

"Hey, have you met Clara yet? Clara Baker?"

"No, I don't think I've had the pleasure."

_Who the fuck have you told?_

Out of the corner of my peripheral vision, I see his hand move. I flinch, pushing into Mike. When I realize he's holding his hand out I almost cry with humiliation. Why, for the love of God, can't he leave me alone? "I have to go, I'm so sorry."

Without thinking, I leave my things behind. Without thinking, I plan to exit through the doors. Without thinking, I run straight into the last person on this earth that I want to see right now.

"What the _fuck, _Clara?"

I'm aware of a few people laughing, but otherwise the cafeteria is eerily silent. Looking down, I see spaghetti sauce splattered over my jeans and sneakers, but it's nothing compared to Maria who's literally lying in her lunch. If I wasn't so terrified of Maria, it would be hilarious. But as my life would go…

"Oh, God, Maria! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you—"

"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me."

I was holding out my hand to help her up, but she nearly scooted away from me, as if I carried some kind of contagious disease. Maria stands up, food falling to the floor as she does so. "I should make you pay for my lunch you stupid bitch!"

I say nothing and this only seems to fuel her enraged fire.

"God, you're a fucking embarrassment, you know that right? For Christ's sake, take a fucking hint, do us all a favor, and drop dead, Clara. No one wants you here."

My face is so hot it's any moment now before my hair catches fire. I hear Maria snort and mumble under her breath before the squeak of her expensive shoes signal her leaving. Which leaves me standing in the cafeteria, covered in Maria's lunch. It's as if I've disassociated from myself, feeling numb. Facing my two-timing attacker and a bitter Maria in less than thirty seconds is enough to overwhelm all good instincts that tell me to get out now.

Stone-washed jeans entertain my downcast gaze and I can only feel a slight relief that I'm no longer standing alone.

"Clara? Wanna get out of here?"

Old Clara would've said, "No" because she knew it was wrong to skip school for no good reason. But as I stood in that silent cafeteria, I had an epiphany of sorts: I didn't want to be Old Clara. I didn't want to feel too cowardice to defend myself, too ashamed, too silent. In all honestly, it just made me tired and secretly bitter at the world for being so cruel.

But the whole world wasn't cruel.

Take Don right now, for example. Showing a simple act of kindness, or Brian, who pushed his friends to join me at lunch so I didn't have to sit alone. Take LeAnn, who use to hate me, or Stasia, who didn't know me from eve. All good people I intentionally distance parts of my life from because it just makes everything…easier.

"I heard there's a twenty-four hour diner that's pretty good," I say softly.

I hear Don chuckle, "Is that so?" I nod mutely. "In that case…"

He grabs my hand, and I only have a second to notice my bag in his other hand before he's pulling me along. And for the first time in my life, I don't pay attention to the stares that follow me…us, out the cafeteria. All I can do is stare at the back of Don's head and smile.

/

"I never did thank you, for what you did for me today."

Don looks up from the takeout tray full of fries to find me staring at him. "It's not something you have to thank me for, Clara. I should've busted Maria in the mouth—"

"No, you shouldn't've," I correct with a soft smile. "But I wish you could."

He grins before popping a fry into his mouth. Naturally, they were cold by now, but neither of us noticed as we ate in silence. We sat in the bed of my truck, our backs against opposite sides so that we face each other with the tray between our stretched out legs.

I never, in the years since Don moved here and became "It", would've believed I would spend an entire afternoon with him, let alone enjoy it. He's surprisingly…comfortable. Safe, but not in a settling way. Safe in a way that makes my face flush when he looks at me for a long time, or my skin shiver as he voice roams over it, or my body warm when his arm accidentally grazes mine when he reaches for the salt. Safe in a way that I actual feel like I can trust him.

"Clara?"

"Hmm?"

"…Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're staring at me."

I blink quickly. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean—"

"What are you thinking about?"

_You_. "Nothing."

He grins as if he knows I'm lying, but thankfully doesn't push the question. Looking for a change of conversation, I glance off into the horizon where the desert sun leaves a warm palette of colors across the sky. I get so lost in the view that it's not until I stiffen at his arm around my waist that I realize Don's behind me. I turn in confusion as he pulls me between his legs, trying to urge me to lean against his chest. My chest tightens with nerves as my mind summersaults to the last time we were so close, and instinctively, I resist.

"I don't bite, Clara," Don murmurs, almost sounding insulted.

"I know," I respond quickly, "I'm just—"

"Not used to it," he finishes. "Well get used to it."

With that, he pulls me in so that I can feel the heat of his skin through my blouse. I watch his hands slide down my arms until our fingers are tangled together, and I marvel at how much larger his hands are than mine. Then he moves our arms so that they rest on my stomach.

"See," he teases gently, "harmless."

I can almost sense his patience as I mentally adjust to the change in atmosphere, from casual to intimate at his discretion. But of course he would have to push for it because I never would. He presses his legs against mine and I feel immersed in a cocoon.

"Yeah, h-harmless."

This guy is gonna be the death of me.

Yet, a single nagging thought prevented me from leaning completely into him. As if my body physically recognized one small, tiny detail that seemed to still hang in the air.

"People are gonna hate you for this."

He stiffens and the comfortable silence becomes thick. "Clara—"

"No point in acting like you won't face the same kinda crap I get," I snap sharply, his ignorance irritating. The moment lost, I detangle myself from him and slide off the truck, turning to face him with my arms crossed and my emotions steeled for the ugly truth.

He suddenly looks confused, likely wondering where the hell _this _came from. "Clara, I don't understand what you want."

I floundered in my thoughts. I didn't quite know what message I was trying to get across, and thought carefully about my next words. "I'm not gonna lie, because…you already overheard me say it before: but I do like you." He studies me with gentle eyes that urge me forward. "Today…I can't remember the last time I've laughed so much…ever. But as much as I wish today could last forever, it won't. Tomorrow we have to face our classmates, _your _friends, and you'll be Don Billingsly of the Permian Panthers and I'll be the Mutt—"

"_Clara_—!"

I smiled ruefully but I'm sure Don saw past it. "Don't act like you haven't heard the nicknames, the stories about Janie and I…and if we…if you and I…"

"Date?" Don said with a small smile.

"Yes, that. If we _date_ you'd be in the same boat as me: an outcast. I watched it happen to LeAnn: all her friends, save for those on the soccer team who like me enough, ditched her because of me. And God knows I love her for that…but I can't ask that of you. It's not fair and you'd be giving up so much—"

"Clara, shut up."

Okay. Ouch.

Don sidles over until his long legs dangle over the edge of my truck, and when his hands grasp my hips, I feel a sudden wave of my resolve break on the shore. "How Maria treats you—the slurs, the beer, the threats—is cold and cruel." His eyes narrow and I swear his voice deepens with anger. "She always thinks she has the right to tread on whomever she wants and it makes me sick, especially since you never asked for it, Clara."

"It's how she was raised—"

"Doesn't make it right!" He looks at me, right at me. "And if I left you now, I'd hate myself as much as I'm starting to hate her."

I can't look him in the eyes, so I keep my focus on the side of my truck, but I can't help the impact his words have on me. It's a shame that I've lived a life where a simple act of human kindness stops my heart with disbelief, as if it's waiting for the Catch.

"Clara…what do _you _want?"

I closed my eyes, thinking back. _What do you want from me? _Now he wants to know what _I_ want, and I'm struck dumb. I wanted a lot of things: for Maria to leave me alone, for James to talk to me again, to rewind time back before my attack…like I said, a lot of things.

Suddenly exhausted, I sit down beside Don as we both stare silently out at the sinking sun. It would be dark soon, and I couldn't avoid Janie's wrath for my afternoon absence any longer.

"Let's just take it one day at a time," I say finally. "See where that gets us."

"One day at a time, hmm?" He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. This time, I relax in his embrace. "I think I can do that."


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

"What are these rumors I keep hearing about you and Don?"

I hold off searching my locker for my English notes to look up at Lee with a look of disbelief. "Just rumors, Lee. Don't tell me you believe that I had hot-and-heavy sex with Don on his couch while his Dad watched. I'm pretty sure that was Maria a few months ago…"

"Doesn't change the fact that everyone knows that you spent an entire afternoon alone with Don Billingsly of all people…Clara what the hell were you thinking, he's trouble?"

Successful in my search, I add the loose sheets of paper inside my History textbook for safekeeping and slam my locker shut. Shrugging my bag onto my shoulder I give her a dark look that only last about two seconds before falling flat. "Don seems sincere, plus I asked him to just be patient. I'm not trying to rush anything right now, Lee, you know that—I've still got college applications to finish."

"Are you still applying to Columbia then?"

I jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. "Yeah, although I'm sure it's a long-shot—"

Lee snorts and follows me down the hallway as we head for our first period classes. I ignore the stares and whispers that follow me, choosing instead to focus on what LeAnn is saying. "You and Chavo are the two people most likely to get into whatever college you want. You're so damn smart it's ridiculous."

"Still…" I remark slowly, trying to hide the flush of pleasure on my cheeks, "the students that apply to Columbia are the cream-of-the-crop at these top notch high schools and with Daddy's bank account in the fine print. I'm not ruling out my chance at a soccer scholarship yet."

Lee sighs as she reaches her class first. Leaning against the doorway she turns to me and says, "Don't stress so much about college." She turns to leave before, "And one more thing!" She pins me with a stare. "Don't think our talk about Don is over."

The warning bell signals overhead and I groan in frustration before hiking my bag up my shoulder and running towards my class at the end of the hallway. The second I walk in, however, all conversation ceases and every eye turns in my direction. Thankfully, I've always taken a liking the seat right in front of the teacher's desk, so I slide into my usual spot and drop my bag to the floor, trying to ignore the stares burning holes into the back of my head.

"Slut!" Someone coughs.

I feel my ears burn hot as I take out my notebook. Snickers erupt from around me but I ignore them, flipping slowly to a clean page while mentally running through old soccer plays. It's the best and only defensive strategy I've got to blocking out the world around me, otherwise I might drown in it.

However, as the day progressed, it became clear that my sudden haste of leaving with Don the day before was clearly a judgment made rashly. Half-way through the day, I thought I was doing good, considering I hadn't vomited or burst into tears yet. I could ignore the comments that I'm, "Easy", "a Tramp", and other such words as long as I tried to focus on the lessons at hand or stared straight ahead, pretending as if the words just rolled right off me.

Seeing Stasia and LeAnn waiting for me at my locker was like a breath of fresh air, and I felt my breathing loosen. Their faces of concern were apparent, but before they could open their mouths, I waved off their discomfort. "I'm fine, you guys. Promise."

"Doesn't change the fact that I want to kick everyone's asses right now," Lee seethed, glaring at those who passed by. "This has Maria's stank all over it."

Stasia nodded as I smiled as if unconcerned. Putting in my locker combination, I shook my head and said, "You two worry too much. Maria has better things to do with her time than start the ninth grade all over—"

I open my locker and my speech falters in horror. Throat constricted, I can only stare at the multitude of condoms that had made their way into my locker and were currently falling like water to the floor, scattering around my feet in shiny waves.

"Oh my God," Stasia whispers in horror.

I can literally feel the blood drain my face as the hallway falls into a stunned silent. And just as if the Magic Man behind the prank had snapped their fingers, everyone erupted in roars of uncontrolled laughter. Absolute mortification kept me rooted to the spot, one hand still holding the locker door open, the other still hanging limply at my side. Hatred, unlike anything I've ever felt reared i's ugly head, and I almost gasped with the shock of it. And with that hatred, came a sudden wave of shame. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I prayed to a God that had clearly left me years ago or wished on a star that was never mine, I just couldn't get people to like me long enough to leave me alone.

And that's when I felt it. Felt _him_. Staring at me, watching me, waiting. I turned my head to the left and sure enough, there he was, standing next to Brian and Mike and seemingly frozen in shock. And the longer I stared at Don, the stronger my hatred for him grew. _Why _didn't he just leave me alone when I asked him to? _Why _did he feel the compulsion to push his way into my life until his actions resulted in my constant humiliation? _Why, why, why, why, WHY?_

"Come on, Clara, let's get out of here."

Any other day, surprise might've kept me from moving, but suddenly, I was more than happy to let James grip my elbow and pull me away down the hallway.

…

James managed to get me to the front steps of my house before I completely lost it. Suddenly, my knees would no longer support me and I felt myself crumble to a heap. Despite the warm sun, I felt a cold shiver run over my skin and I hugged myself tightly, wishing I could curl up into a ball so small that eventually I would just disappear.

James kneeled down beside me, his brown eyes the kindest I've seen them in years. I didn't really care what brought on his change of heart, but suddenly, I didn't want to be around anyone else except the one person who used to always be my confidant and best friend.

"Why d-do th-they h-ha-hate m-me so m-much?"

I gasped for air repeatedly, trying to work air into my lungs, something I've only struggled with after a hard work out. James shook his head slowly, dropping it as if my shame were his own. "I don't know, Clara. I don't know."

The last gasp for air seemed to pop the bubble that had grown in my chest. I sobbed into James' chest for what felt like hours. I could hear myself groaning in pain as if I were watching my breakdown, not actually experiencing it. Everything that had happened this year seemed to have built up: the attack at Ratliff and the diner, the beer in my face, every quarrel between James and me, Janie, Don, all of it seemed to only encourage the flow of tears. Each memory brought with it its own sharp pain that I suddenly couldn't bear.

I cried myself hoarse, the tears ebbing away as the hiccups slowly began dominating. My eyelids felt puffy, as if they had absorbed as much tears as they had shed. Sniffing, I sat up, wiping my face as best as I could. Humiliation at being caught in such a vulnerable episode gave way to irritation when, the more I hiccupped, the more James seemed to find it amusing to mimic me. I tried to shoot him a deathly stare, but just like on Lee, it didn't last. In fact, I burst out laughing, as if everything I had taken seriously moments before had just become ridiculous.

We got inside the house, James making himself comfortable on the couch while I went to wash my face, trying to rid myself of the tear stains on my cheeks and other such grime. After that, James and I talked. We had a lot of catching up to do as well as apologizing, for neither he nor I had been very…kindly (for lack of a better word) the past few years.

When a lull in the conversation finally squeezed itself in, James took it upon himself to fill in the blanks that had led us here: "So what's going on between you and Billingsly?"

I feel a torrid of emotions at his name and none of them really help me answer the question because _I _don't even know what the hell is really going on. He never actually asked me out yesterday, yet the setting combined with the way he kept touching and holding would tell someone _couple_, yet after today I'm not sure if I even want to be in the same room as him. It's nothing against him, of course, but…my life is hard enough.

"It's complicated…" James gives me a hard look commonly used when he wants me to spill more than I actually have. I fidget uncomfortably in my seat until the doorbell breaks his concentration. Jumping up from the couch, I head to the door.

"What are you doing here?"

Brian doesn't exactly look comfortable in his current position, and I'm sure it has something to do with my tone of voice which was currently more hostile than surprised. But at this rate, if the wrong person saw him talking to me, I wouldn't be surprised if I was suddenly a "two-timing hoe" or "sleeping my way through the Permian football team".

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Brian just shrugs and says, "Wanted to see if you're alright, I guess."

"Is school over?"

Suddenly he breaks out into a wide grin. "You're not the only top of the class skipping this afternoon."

I realized the irony and couldn't help but smile. "It would seem that perfect attendance record has been tarnished this year, but I see no point in you ruining yours."

"Can we talk?"

I feel my eyes narrow defensively and without thinking, I take a small step back, ready to close the door. "About?" He just gives me a knowing look and I say, "I'm actually—"

"Free to talk," James says suddenly from behind me. "I forgot I have an appointment in Midland," he adds apologetically. "Chavo."

"Boobie," Brian says politely. They both nod their heads in acknowledgement but say nothing else.

"Do you need a ride?" I ask, almost desperate. I can guess what Brian wants to talk about…or who, to be more specific.

James snorts. "I think I can walk around the corner just fine, Clara."

I blink stupidly. "Right."

With James gone, Brian and I are left standing on the front porch, quiet and avoiding each other's gazes. Not wanting to get caught by nosy neighbors leading Brian in or out my house when I'm alone, I instead choose to sit on the top stair, gazing at the empty street and still houses. Without any gesture from me, Brian sits down beside me, leaving enough space between to keep the feeling informal and friendly. Nothing more, just in case.

"Do you hate him?"

"Depends, are you asking or is he?"

"…He is."

"Then why isn't he here instead of you?"

"Because after the look you gave him in the hallway he assumed that you didn't want anything to do with him."

"Well, he's right about something."

I can't keep the bitterness out my voice, and it's so obvious that Brian sighs. "I'm sorry about what happened today, Clara."

My anger falters in surprise at the sudden apology. I honestly expected him to defend his friend first. Refusing to look at him, I focus on the street until my vision clears. "Doesn't matter," I say, my voice sounding rough.

"Clara…Don's really sorry—"

"I do _not _want to talk about him, okay?"

"Clara—"

"You wanna know something, Brian? Yesterday, hanging out with Don, that's the first time I can remember feeling like a normal teenager for the first time in months! Honestly, I had a lot of fun just talking with Don. And after one day—one _afternoon_!—where I'm actually happy for the first time in my goddamn life, I get labeled a fucking whore by the entire student body! So excuse me for wanting it to end here and not let it continue until we graduate!"

Brian looks so small, and I realize it's because I'm towering over him. I have no idea when I stood up, but once I've finished my outburst and regained my breath, my knees suddenly seem weak from shock. I lean against the porch column, facing the front of my house so that my back is to Brian. I quickly wipe my face.

Brian is standing beside me and I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"In retrospect…you had every right to."

Something in his tone makes me look up, and seeing his brown eyes teasing and playful makes me smile. I'm forming the beginning of a question on my tongue when the absolute worst thing that could happen happens. Brian grasps either side of my face and pulls my forward. I'm sure this kiss itself lasted no more than five seconds max due to my shock and inability to think coherently, but it felt as if the world had suddenly come to abrupt halt.

By the time I figure out that I need to push him away, it might as well be too late. _I kissed Brian…I kissed Stasia's boyfriend and Don's best friend_. I want to cry with the unfairness of it all. Brian looks so pale, as if his body's actions just reached his brain and it couldn't compute what the hell just happened.

"Clara…I…"

I push past him and into my house, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me. Terrified that someone saw, all I can do is stand at the door, horror keeping me from moving until I here Brian's car fire up. I don't look out the window until I no longer hear the sounds of his engine.

Tears well up when I realize the damage I've done now. It's hard enough realizing that not only was my first kiss stolen, but it went to someone I hadn't wanted to take it. However, shame, unlike anything I've felt thus far, crept into my heart and nearly stopped it when I realized that, for a few milliseconds, I had kissed him back.

…

I'm not exactly in a rush, where I'm going. My feet carry me through town in a slow pace, my hands stuffed in the pocket of my varsity soccer letterman's jacket I received at the end of last year's season. The days might have been warm, but that didn't stop the desert nights from reminding Odessa it's nearly the end of October.

It took me all afternoon to muster up the courage to face him. Sorting through the haze of my mind, it took me hours to realize that what happened between Brian and me had been nothing more than a mistake (at least on my part). There's no denying that Brian is a great guy and a safe choice, but I wasn't going to fake the disappointment either. Lately, I had been fantasizing about the idea of Don kissing me. The very idea alone usually sent my heart racing to the point that it felt as though I had been running.

But I also had no idea how I could face him knowing I had momentarily willingly kissed his best friend. Hence, why I walked the quiet town streets at one in the morning. Bad idea? Sure it was, but I couldn't sleep until I talked to him.

I turned on what I knew to be his street and was stunned when, in the semi-darkness, he flew out of his house. I almost called out to him when another figure coming out stopped me. He grabbed Don's arm so violently that the places where I had been grabbed weeks before winced in sympathy.

"Where the fuck you think you goin' boy? I ain't finished talkin' to ya."

Mr. Billingsly voice was low, but the street was so quiet it just carried. I knew I should've turned around a left…if I got caught staring I could get into trouble. But I was transfixed at the sight before me, and I could no longer feel my feet.

"Let. Fucking. Go."

"Get your ass back in this house boy, I ain't finished—"

"Fuck you!"

Don's head seemed to snap to the side. The hit was so quick that it took me a moment to realize that his father had punched him…hard. My hands covered my mouth, fingers shaking. The sudden urge to run to him took a whole lot of self-control to fight.

"You wanna leave, fine. Leave. And don't come back, either."

He emphasizes his point by slamming the front door. Don seems to struggle back to his feet, the blow to his cheek having nearly brought him to his knees. I'm watching his retreating figure when I start jogging to catch up. He's moving quickly, and it takes me a minute to catch up to his long strides. However, I reach him quickly enough and touch his arm.

He jerks violently as if expecting the worst. Turning, I catch a quick glimpse of pure anger on his face and I blink and it's gone. Replaced by surprise at seeing me instead of whoever he was expecting. Neither of us say anything, but when I begin to lead him in the opposite direction, he follows.

Janie's working the night shift as usual, so the house is as quiet upon my return as it was when I left it. Don follows me in, his presence in my home heavy and I suddenly feel my unease kick in.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Without facing him, I shrug. I turn on the kitchen light and turn. Already a bruise is forming along the corner of his mouth where he was hit, and his lower lip is cut. "I'll get you some ice."

I fill a bag and wrap a dish towel around it before handing it to Don. He takes it slowly, his eyes lingering on me for a few seconds. "Do you need to take something? Do you want something to drink?"

He's still looking at me and I swallow a bout of nerves. I lick my lips and suddenly find myself staring at his. I look back up at him and he begins to move in, slowly, as if giving me time to say, "No" or turn my head. But I don't do either of those things, because I want nothing more than for him to kiss me. One hand clutches my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheek gently. I close my eyes.

The first touch is so soft, I barely feel it. "Don?"

Then his mouth covers mine, catching his name on my lips. He pushes himself against me, and I can feel his head tilt as he tries for better access. Eager, I push back hard. He hisses, pulling away and touching his lip. I blush. "I'm so-sorry," I stutter, excitement getting me carried away.

He just smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not."

He kisses me again, and this time I feel my heart rate spike into a zone that can't be good for my health. I can tell that Don is working hard to restrain himself, because his hands, although roaming along my arms and hips and waist, never stray anyplace else. Feeling more daring than I ever have, I throw one arm around his neck and pull him closer, my other hand holding his cheek softly so as not to aggravate his bruise.

He pulls away, but not by much. He kisses my jawline all the way back to the spot right below my ear and gently bites down on a small area of flesh before he runs his tongue over it. I know he did this to mess with me because when I let out a gasp of surprise and—I'll admit—lust, I can feel his body shake with his laughter.

"Ass," I mumble under my breath.

He snorts and lifts his face up to mine. He captures my lips, but I can feel his smile. When we pull away for the last time, both Don and I are breathing loudly, our chest moving in sync with each breath. Eyes shining and faces flushes, we both look like kids on Christmas morning. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and suddenly I fit of giggles overcomes me, and I can't help myself. I burst out into laughter, some of it nerves and some of it just adrenaline and excitement. Don stares at me for a moment, snorting in disbelief at my unexplained behavior, rolling his eyes at my uncontrolled emotions, before finally caving and joining in himself.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

The next morning I sat in my car in the parking lot of the high school for what felt like hours. Each time I thought I had mustered enough courage to get out a group of people would spot me and point and laugh. Last night with Don…well, I had forgotten everything that lead up to him kissing me. But now, not only did I have to face the entire student body (who all, by now, I'm sure knew about the condoms) but Brian and Stasia. Together.

I suddenly felt nauseous with nerves. I hadn't even told Don what had transpired between me and his best friend, and it was stupid of me to think I was brave enough to. But now I had to act normal in front of everyone and I felt so wired with stress that I wouldn't be surprised if the smallest thing set me off. I wondered if Brian felt this nervous but immediately shook the thought from my head. Any thought of him now felt like a betrayal to Don and Stasia.

I heavy hand slammed on the driver's window and I screamed so loudly that the person outside the car started screaming.

"Jesus Christ, Clara," LeAnn breathed, clutching her chest. "What the hell are you trying to do, give me a heart-attack?"

"Me?" I step out my car and slam my door. "You couldn't knock politely? You had to go slam your hand against my damn window?"

"You were out of it; you didn't even hear me knocking!" I lean against my truck and continue breathing. "Are you alright, though? You looked worried about something?"

"I'm fine," I lie. My voice cracks and I clear it self-consciously. Lee stares at me as I suggest that we head inside. As the snickers follow me Lee wraps an encouraging arm around my shoulders and I feel myself lean into her for support. Stasia is leaning against my locker, a small smile on my face. I can't help but feel as though she's been here for a while watching my locker for repeat offenders.

I'm a terrible, terrible person.

"Hey, Sweetie," she says gently. She hugs me, squeezing tightly.

"Hey, Stasia."

I cautiously put in my locker combination, expecting pregnancy test or something this time. But my locker is empty except for my school supplies. I grab what I need and put up what I don't. Just as I shut my door I hear someone calling my name. I turn to see a face I don't recognize. I automatically expect the worst, as it's a guy wearing a humorous grin surrounded by his friends with the same facial expression.

"You dropped these yesterday!"

He threw several shimmery packets into the air. Some hit me in the face and some landed at my feet. His posse roared with laughter as I bent down to pick up my bag. LeAnn and Stasia had both taken a step forward when I mutter under my breath so only they can hear, "Leave it alone. There's no point."

…

"Can we go, please?" I beg, my neck burning as the snickers and stares linger on me. Seated beside LeAnn and Stasia in the cafeteria at our usual spot leaves me open for further ridicule from the entire student body who hasn't had the opportunity just yet.

"Clara, you can't let these assholes win," Lee whispers under her breath. "Hiding out in the library isn't going to make it any easier."

"As much as I _hate _to say it, LeAnn's right," Stasia adds over a mouthful of salad. "Besides, what's the worst that can happen?" I don't bother to fill them in on my classmates' ideas of a joke. Instead I stare mournfully at my leftover pasta from last night as if it too had just thrown a handful of condoms in my face. "Hey, baby."

I look up and nearly puke as Brian sits down next to Stasia. He avoids looking at me and just wraps his arm around Stasia's waist, kissing her cheek.

"Hey, Slutly Muttly," Maria says with a laugh as she sidles up to the table, blue eyes bright with mischief. "Did you like my little surprise yesterday?"

"Absolutely, I just hate you had to waste your entire supply on me."

"I don't mind," she says smoothly. "I would just hate for you to get pregnant or something. Wouldn't want you to make the same mistake your mother did seventeen years ago."

I can tell she's been thinking up that one for a while now. And that hatred I felt yesterday comes back with a burning passion as Maria walks away, golden tendrils of hair falling down her back as she throws her head in laughter. I don't know if I'm more pissed that she brought Janie into this or just the fact that I'm sick and tired of her bullshit. But it doesn't matter.

"Hey, Maria!"

She turns around, not realizing that I've followed her to nearly the exact spot where I accidentally ran into her two days ago. Huh? Looks like fate has a funny way of being ironic. She turns, confusion written across her features until she sees what's in my hand. She only has a split moment to register my actions when I'm throwing LeAnn's slice of chocolate cake into her face—it was the closest thing to me. And to really let the message sink in, I grab the back of her head so that she can't move and just rub the plate across her face. When I finally let my hand drop, Maria's appears to be in too much shock to say anything.

But I'm not.

Years of pent up emotion have been leading up to this moment. The moment where I would set Maria straight and tell her how her years of torment have devastated me from the inside out. But the longer I stand there, watching her try her damnest not to cry, I feel nothing but disgust that I wound up sinking to her level. There's absolutely no satisfaction—like a cake to the face really beats out condoms in a locker or years of emotional abuse—and I feel…empty.

_Damn my conscious. _Without thinking, I grab Maria by the elbow and begin to drag her towards the doors. I hadn't realized that so many were laughing but the last thing I felt was accomplished. Maria, seemingly stunned, didn't fight me. I just led her to the bathroom and said, "Get cleaned up."

She walks to the sink in silence and practically dunks her entire head under the faucet. It doesn't take long to get the chocolate out of her hair and face, but her shirt is completely ruined. In my anger-induced haze, I didn't realize how far I had spread the chocolate. It seemed as though her entire front was covered. Hating myself all the more for what I was about to do, I unzip my jacket and hand it to her.

"I don't want your fucking charity."

"And I don't want your fucking attitude, but here we are," I snap.

She dries her face with a paper towel, eyeing me hatefully all the while. Whatever. Then she snatches my jacket out my hand but before I can blink, she's standing in one of the stalls. I watch in open-mouthed shock as she flushes my jacket, clogging the toilet and causing the water to overflow.

"Go to hell, Clara." Maria bumps into my shoulder on her way out, and I just snap.

"What the _fuck _is wrong with you, you psychotic bitch?"

But she doesn't look back and she doesn't respond. Leaving me, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, wondering why I even bother.

…

It's nearly midnight when I hear a faint tapping on my window. At first I think nothing of it, continuing to read ahead in my history textbook until the tapping worsens, forcing me to think that either someone really needs to talk to me or they're really bad at breaking in.

I lay my pencil down and stretch my fingers as I stand up and walk to the window. I pull back my curtain before lifting the blinds on my window halfway. Surprise fills me as I open the window. "Don…what…?"

"I wanted to see you…can I come in?"

"Through the window?" I ask slowly, confused.

"Well I don't think your mom would mind if I just walked through the front door."

"Actually, Janie's not here. She's working."

"Oh."

"…"

"…"

"Do you want me to meet you 'round back?"

"Yeah, that'll work."

He walks away from the window and I stand there for a little longer, moderately confused and stunned at his bold approach. I close the window and return the blinds and curtain to their normal state before heading to the back doors to let Don in. He walks in, surveying the dining room and living room with interest. Practically ignoring me, he goes to the multitude of picture frames Janie set up on the wall, TV stand, coffee table…as if looking at the room from a stranger's point of view, I guess we did have a lot of photos.

"So it's just you and your mom?"

I stay where I'm at, arms crossed nervously, as if he's examining Janie and I. "Yep."

He picks up a frame from the table in front of him and stares at it a while, a small smile on his lips. I fidget. He sets the photo down and continues on his lackluster journey through my house. As he enters the hallway, I begin to follow a few steps behind, my nervousness slowly becoming a sort of curiosity. He spies my open bedroom door and just waltzes in. I swallow, fearing his intentions and I drag behind. Leaning against my door frame, I find him doing the same thing. He's standing in the middle of my room and I suddenly realize just how big he really is in comparison. He looks at my various championship trophies and MVP medals from past, successful soccer seasons. He eyes the photos of me and Janie; me and LeAnn; and (more recently) me, LeAnn, and Stasia. He goes to my bookcase and fingers the spine of a few. I nearly burst with his silence, especially when I see his lips twitch, as if laughing at some amusing joke only he knows. But I force my silence.

Finally, he sits down on my bed and looks at me. I force myself to stare back, but I'm reminded of our stare-down at the Feed, and I feel my heart race under his intense gaze. He smiles at me. "Hi."

Something in me, like a dam, breaks. Suddenly, my nerves are gone. I bite my lip, trying to hide my smile. "Hi."

…

"You know, I think this is the longest conversation we've had without you insulting me."

I swallow the Oreo I had been in the middle of chewing. "I have not insulted you every single conversation we've had," I retort as I reach for another cookie. "Pass the peanut butter."

Don slides the container towards me. "Well let's look back, shall we."

"Fine."

"_You of all people would not have the slightest fucking clue how to work the damn Dewey Decimal System_," he mimics (I'm pretty sure almost verbatim) in a high pitch.

"I do _not _sound like that," I say with a laugh. "And besides, I apologized for the way I acted."

"Oh yes you do, and it still counts: you insulted my intelligence." He grabs a handful of chips.

"Whatever, next convo."

"Let's see," he taps his chin thoughtfully with the hand not currently holding food, "I believe that would be when I helped you to your car because I'm chivalrous….Ah yes! You mentioned how my so-called "reputation" precedes me and then acted as though I was playing you on a joke…which I think you've accused me of twice."

I frown.

"And then you rudely turned me down for a date."

"That's not an insult!" I scoff.

He snorts. "It is to me." I roll my eyes. "And then the next time, you…"

I'm licking the peanut butter off my spoon and look up when I realize he's not going to finish his sentence. At first I assumed he's just trying to remember, but he refused to look at me and his face seems really red. I frown. Did I do something? I think back to the next conversation we had after he asked me out. I realize it was the bonfire party…after James injured his knee because Maria threw her beer in my face and Don offered me a ride home. We were going to stop for dinner when he pulled over because of something I said…

"Oh," I say with a blush, remembering.

"Yeah…"

I fidget nervously, but not because I'm embarrassed. I recall how it felt to lie in his arms wrapped around my waist. I remember how his chest felt moving underneath me, slowing as he caught his breath from our horseplay. And remembering that I had somehow, in that time span, apparently managed to arouse Don made me flush with a bit of pride. It felt nice to be desired.

I smile softly, reaching up and brushing my fingers across my lips. I can still feel the pressure of Don's kiss from last night. The way his body pressed up against mine as he wrapped one arm crushingly around my waist while his other hand tangled itself in my hair.

"Err…Clara?"

I blink, having forgotten that Don was even there. He's smiling cockily at me, his momentary abashness gone. And when I realize my fingers are still on my lips, I drop them quickly and divert my gaze. For once, I would just like to be as suave as LeAnn or as sexy as Stasia. Instead, I somehow manage to continue to make myself look like a jackass in front of the first boy to ever show any kind of interest in me. (Brian does not count, nor will he ever).

A sudden shyness overcomes me; nothing like the usual anger, frustration, confusion, or even bout of nerves that I tend to feel around Don. This is something else. This is me, a girl, realizing that Don, a boy, are sitting alone in my bedroom with no adult around. I sneak a peek at Don through my lashes. And suddenly all the features I've never bothered to notice just suddenly jump out at me. The way his simple tee fits him, hugging the curves of muscles on his arms and accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Or his large hands, that always seems to find their way around my waist as of late. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he's sincerely smiling, or the way his green eyes seem to see the real me, and not the me the rest of Odessa seems to see—and yet still seems to find some part of me desirable. The way his dirty-blonde hair curls around his ears in the most adorable fashion, always looking as though he did nothing more than roll out of bed. Or the feel of his lips, hungrily pressed against mine. And most importantly, the way, without even realizing it, I've slowly lowered my defenses around him, my wariness about his intentions slipping away the more he proved he had my back, even if it risked being mocked in front of his peers later.

I fidget again, but this time the strange sensation doesn't leave me. My stomach feels as though it's in knots, but that isn't what's bothering me. No, this feeling is lower and the more I think about Don the stronger it gets. It makes my heart race and my skin burn.

Don's looking at me, and his eyes seem to reflect the sudden hunger and desire that's overcome me. I uncurl but Don is faster and reaches me in a millisecond. He's on top of me, pinning me to my own rug, and kissing me with such amped up passion that I hope I'm returning in the same eagerness. He moves his body between my legs and that feeling heightens to a near pleasant burning sensation. I want to harness this feeling and find a way to feel it every second of every day.

Not knowing what to do with my hands, I mimic his actions last night, roaming the contours of his arms or feeling his abs through his tee. If Stasia could see me now she'd be so proud. I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the smooth, thick strands slipping through my grasp. I feel something smooth and wet run across my lower lip, and I hesitate only a moment before parting my lips. As if sensing my hesitation, Don slows down a bit as his tongue enters my mouth. A rush unlike anything I've felt so far overwhelms my senses. All the pre-notions growing up about how nasty Frenching would be vanish the second his tongue brushes against mine. It feels so naughty and sexual, something I never saw myself doing, that I feel like an adrenaline junkie, feeding off what Don's throwing at me and harvesting it to up my own antics.

Suddenly my body takes over and my mind is no longer in control. I can't lie to myself anymore, so I won't. Don's got me so aroused that whenever his thigh presses itself against my crotch I want to let out a cry of lust. I know we're moving too fast…we technically haven't even been on a date yet. But it's so, so hard to stop. And I don't want to.

I break away. "Don…" I begin, preparing to tell him we have to stop. But he just thinks I'm asking for more, because suddenly his lips are on my neck and I feel my eyes close at the pleasure of his teeth teasing my flesh, of his tongue running over it. My breathing is so ragged it's shaky at best.

I have to get control of the situation. I take a deep breath and strengthen my voice. "Don!"

He jumps, pulling away from me until he's hovering above me, eyes alive and face flushed. "What is it, did I do something wrong?"

The phrase '_If this is wrong I don't wanna be right'_ pops into my head, but thankfully I know better than to say it aloud. "N-n-no," I stutter, my moment of resolve gone the second I see how he looks caught up in the mood. And the fact that I did that makes it ten times more attractive. I clear my throat. "But we can't…I can't…you know I could never go any further than this right now, right?"

For a moment, some of the light leaves his eyes in disappointment. A wave of guilt washes over me before he shakes his head. "I know…but goddamn it, Clara. You're not gonna make this easy on me."

I snort. "Shouldn't you be used to this sort of thing."

"Well I see your sarcasm is back, hello old friend," he teases with a smile. I roll my eyes when his fingers tilt my chin, gently turn my gaze back to his. He stares at me, almost longingly it seems, his fingers stroking my jaw and neck. But unlike when _he _touched my neck, I have no fears that Don would hurt me. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice so low and husky it's almost inaudible and I nearly miss it.

I blush, that sudden shyness returning. Unable to meet his gaze, I occupy myself by fiddling with his shirt that hangs a bit loose now that he's hovering over me. I rub the fabric between my fingers, but I can't hide the smile that Don's compliment created.

"I find you fascinating," he mumbles, almost as if he's thinking out loud.

I frown in confusion and intrigue. "Do tell."

"You ask me all the time, why? Well, that's why," he explains. He rolls over so that he's lying on his back next to me, both of us staring at my ceiling. "That day in the library…the first time we talked…"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never seen so much anger in someone before," he whispers, almost as if expecting me to get upset and begin shouting back. But curiosity at what he was saying made me hold my tongue. "You were so defensive I could actually see you trying to barricade yourself by insulting me. And the bruises…but something about you impressed me that day and it wasn't until recently that I realized what it was."

I hadn't realized that I had rolled onto my side, my elbow propped up and my head resting in the palm of my hand. I was literally drinking in his words and leaned in, as if I might miss what he would say next. "What was it?"

"How strong you are," he says. Then he turns to look at me, and the impact of his words and his eyes are so strong that I feel myself lean back.

I shake my head. "That's sweet, Don, but I'm not strong. Strong people fight their own battles; they don't rely on their friends or their mothers to do it for them." I'm silent a moment. _I'm a coward_.

"Is that really what you think?" Don scoffs. "You're not a coward, Clara, you're one of the bravest people I know."

I blush, not realizing I had spoken that last part. "Then why can't I stand up to Maria without feeling guilty? Why do I let her and everyone else continue to walk over me and treat me like crap, huh?"

"Because you're the bigger person," he says simply, as if that was the most obvious answer.

I snort. "Well, being the bigger person sucks. It gets you labeled Slutly Muttly and condoms thrown at you in the school hallway."

"Clara…"

"It gets some asshole following you into the library asking how much for a quickie behind the desk—"

"Clara, stop—"

"I'm going to graduate the laughing stock of Odessa and there's nothing I can do about it." I'm horrified to hear my voice crack, but I clear my throat as if nothing's wrong and manage to regain my composure. I finger my frayed carpet. "Have you ever…wanted something so bad but no matter how hard you tried, it never seemed within reach or if it was something snatched it back?"

"Every damn day."

I find the courage to look at Don and I'm surprised to see that he's sitting up now, his gaze focused on his fingers. His jaw is clenched tightly. But it's the anger and sadness in his eyes that gives away his thoughts. "I'm so sorry," I say quickly, a blush of shame warming my cheeks. "God, you must be so sick and tired of hearing me bitch and complain about my life when you—"

"Don't mention it," he interrupts, laughing as if it's nothing. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

I swallow nervously, wondering how far I'm allowed to push. "Does anyone know?"

"The whole fucking town, I'm sure," he retorts bitingly.

He's working his jaw, grinding his teeth so tightly I can hear them squealing in protest. I've upset him, obviously, with thoughts of his father. I feel as though I should do something, I mean, he's been comforting me as of late, it's the least I could do.

I stand up, but he hardly seems to notice. I kneel behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my cheek to his. He doesn't move for a while, but I can feel him start to relax. I've been so wrapped up in myself and my issues that I didn't bother to see how everyone around me was dealing with their own shit. I never talked to Don about his father, assuming that he didn't _want _to talk about it, just like I avoided conversation with James, my own cousin, for years out of a stupid jealousy-induced rivalry. And clearly, they were people who had been hurting.

Don suddenly reached out and touched my arm and then clenched it. Not roughly, but tightly enough as if to say, "Don't let go."


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

A week passed, and every single night Don came to visit me. They weren't as heated as his first tromp through my house. In fact, Don seemed to be trying to stay on his best behavior, giving me a space and time to get use to the fact that I was actually in a relationship. With a guy.

I felt bad, forcing Don to keep us a secret, but I wasn't ready to face the public. I could tell Don didn't give a rat's ass, but he respected me enough to wait. I told him once State's loomed a bit closer, I would be ready. That left me one more game, against Midland, and if we beat them, the playoffs. I'm pretty sure Don was counting down the days.

"Tell me something," he commands.

I readjust myself. We're sitting in a strange position on my bed where we're both curled up, but his head is resting on my thighs and vice versa so that we can still look each other in the eyes as we talk. He fiddles with the hem of my tee and looks up at me. "What?"

"Anything. Nothing." He grins at me. "Something naughty."

I snort. "You're barking up the wrong tree there." I shrug my shoulders. "My favorite color's green."

"Boooooo—"

"Jesus, why are you so loud?" I feign anger, but I can't help but laugh.

"That's boring, give me something juicy." He waggles his brows. "Give me something to think about at night—" I punch him in the arm "—Ouch, fine! What about something that no one else knows about you?"

I begin to laugh, but the very idea of what he's asking makes my stomach twist. My smile falters as all the dirty little secrets of my life begin to make their way to the forefront. _I know who attacked me_, I think. But no, I don't want to cause a scandal amidst football season. _There's my relationship with Janie or my lack of a relationship with my father, whom I've never met. Who I don't even have a picture of_—

"All my life, I've wanted to play football, like my dad," Don says suddenly. I look up and find him staring at me, those beautiful green eyes holding me. "Said it would make a man outta me. That's why I moved to Odessa in middle school…to play football."

"Hmm, little did a young Billingsley know that he would soon lay eyes on the most beautiful maiden of all the land, swept off his feet at the first insult that masked only her dearest affections," I tease in my best Shakespeare. It has the desired effect of making him laugh, my entire bed shaking.

"If that's what you wanna call it, be my guest," he chuckles. He grows serious though. "It's hard, being the son of a Permian legend…a Permian who managed to make it all the way to State's—and win—without dropping the goddamn ball."

His bitter tone is hardly hidden behind his nonchalant mask and sarcastic laugh. "But…you love football too, right?" I ask slowly.

"Of course," he begins, gazing out of my window. The lights are off and the street is dark, so I'm not worried about anyone peeking in. "Every guy on the team has some part of him that loves the game—you have to if you want to play football down here." I nod, sitting up as he talks. He readjusts himself in my lap, but doesn't seem to really notice that I've moved. I hesitate only for a second. I'm the least forward of us. But I bring my fingers to his hairline and stroke his messy hair back. I do this repeatedly until I feel his breathing lighten and his body relaxing. He continues talking. "It just gets frustrating, sometimes…"

I don't know how long he talks or how long I listen, silently stroking his hair from his face with gentle caresses. It's rather soothing, actually, to not talk about myself for a change. He talks of some of his practices from growing up with a fondness, and I find myself laughing or asking questions, but otherwise, I just let him get it off his chest.

I don't realize his silence for a while. I look down, expecting him to be staring at me and say, "You're turn". Instead, I find his eyes closed and his breathing light and even. He fell asleep. I want to laugh at the idea that he bored himself to sleep, but I remain quiet, admiring his features in the soft moonlight. I don't have the heart to wake him up, besides, it's only Saturday.

It takes me a while to get him in what I hope is a comfortable enough position because I'm trying to be quiet, but I manage. But he must be one of those deep sleepers because at one point I knocked his leg off the bed and all he did was grunt in his sleep before rolling over and taking up what little space I did have on my twin-sized mattress.

"This is gonna be cozy," I whisper under my breath.

I have half a mind to sleep on the couch, but if Janie sees me she's bound to know something's up. But it's too soon to just climb into bed with Don. Even though the idea alone is tempting. Really tempting. Aw hell…

Just to make sure Janie doesn't come barging in, I lock my door. No…then she might get worried. Damn, how do kids my age pull this off? I'm already getting a migraine and Don and I aren't even doing anything. I leave the door unlocked. I've been a straight A student since kindergarten, I don't drink, I don't smoke, God knows I'm a virgin…I think I'll allow myself tonight.

I change into my pajamas in the bathroom. I suddenly realize that I probably should've swung for something other than flannel and a ragged tee, but I never assumed I would need to shop for sexy pajamas. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking deep breaths. "You got this," I whisper to myself. "He already likes you, just…relax." I smile with giddiness as I head back to my room. Don is exactly where I left him and I can't help but bite my lip at the idea of lying next to him. I feel stupid, like a little school girl with a crush. But these late night rendezvous' with Don have been the highlight of my days, and I can only assume the same for him considering he keeps coming back.

I fold up my jeans and tee and put them in the closet. I close my window and dump my room into sheer darkness, save for what little light the moon is trying to push through. I try to give both of us some space by lying down close to the wall.

Just as I'm getting comfortable, I feel a warm breath on my ear. "You spoil me. Get up real quick." I raise my body and Don pulls my sheets down before pulling them back up over the both of us. Then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls us close together. My head comes to the top of his chin, but the way he curls his body around mine you would think we just fit together. "I told you, I don't bite."

He kisses my shoulder once before getting relaxed again. It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out and he's asleep. And after a while, so am I.

…

"We need to have a girls' night," Stasia proclaims from the candy aisle.

"What do you call this?" LeAnn retorts from the drinks.

"Three girls shopping at a gas station. Not exactly facials and mani-pedis."

"That sounds fun," I say, coming to stand beside Stasia with my chips and soda. "When?"

"How 'bout this weekend? Friday? The guys will be playing Midland, we can have it at my house as we watch the game."

I shrug. "Sounds good to me. Lee?"

"I'm in if you are," she sighs coming to stand on Stasia's other side.

We pay for our things, but just as we're headed out, someone else is headed in. "Ladies."

Instinctively, I pull myself behind LeAnn, not that she notices. "Hey, Austin, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you?"

"I've been good—"

_"You're that Baker girl, right?__"_

"—been keeping busy with football—"

_"Who the fuck have you told?"_

"—and school, the usual."

"Yeah, I bet. I think you know Clara, have you met Stasia?"

I don't know how long we stand there with Lee and _Him_ making polite chit-chat, but finally I hear them give their parting-of-the-ways speeches before his footsteps begin to exit my vision. I follow his walk, my eyes rising the further he gets. But he's already looking at me as he walks away. He blows me a kiss and a wink.

I'll never forget the smile on his face.

I try to muster up as much loathing as possible into my expression. And even though my skin crawls the longer he looks me over and even though my hands shake and my skin burns on the spots where he's hit and grabbed me, I refuse to be the coward any longer. I hold his gaze as I push the door open with my back, only breaking contact when I have to turn towards the car.

…

Stasia had just finished straightening my hair when we reached halftime on the game against Midland. "We're gonna lose," Lee mumbles in defeat.

"Not necessarily, we can still turn it around," I add helplessly, not really believing it. Watching Don drop the ball hurts a lot more now that I know his story, his pressure.

"You're such a hopeless romantic," Lee criticizes. "We're getting creamed out there."

"You guys are so dramatic," Stasia croons. "All done, Clara!"

I go to move myself off the pillow when she goes, "NOT YET! We still have to do makeup."

"But we're not going anywhere." I protest.

"Seriously? Have you ever been to a girls' night out slumber party before, Clara?"

"No."

"…Well, I'm glad I popped your slumber party cherry."

I laugh at that as we settle in for the final half. Stasia's doing my eye shadow when Lee goes, "Holy shit, is that Boobie on the field?"

My eyes fly open to Stasia's displeasure. Sure enough, I spot number forty-five jogging on the field. The worst kind of feeling sinks into my gut. LeAnn turns to look at me. "Clara, you told me that his knee still didn't look any better for today's game. That it still seemed to be causing him pain."

I shake my head in disbelief. When James told me that the Midland Lee doctor had cleared him to play, I had thought something was wrong. ACL's are very, very serious business. I was sure that he had been lying, but watching him walk onto the field surprised me. I mean, surely if Gaines had avoided putting him in the entire game he knew in his gut that James was not fully recovered.

Lee looks from me then back to the game. "Yeah…" she says slowly, "we're gonna lose."

And when James gets carried off the field with just over a minute left in the game, I'm beginning to think she's right. Janie is gonna kill her brother in the morning for sending her nephew out there. Stasia doesn't come anywhere near my face the rest of the game. Lee and I are too busy shouting at the TV. We get a first down, a second, a third, but we need a touchdown and the clock has less than twenty seconds.

"Oh my God," Lee exclaims, "my hands are shaking I'm so nervous."

"Come on, Mike, you've got it," I whisper, fingers crossed so tightly I feel as though they might break.

We have less than three seconds when, "Holy fuck! He dropped the ball!"

"Wait, Lee, he recovered, he's passing it, we're gonna….!"

The word _win _freezes in my throat. "_…and it's too high_!" the announcer exclaims. It literally hurts my chest to watch Midland Lee run across the field, victorious. My mouth falls open as we stand there in stunned silence. Well me anyway, Lee is pacing furiously and swearing harshly.

"What does that mean, are we not going to the playoffs," Stasia asks.

"We're tied," Lee says with frustration. "A fucking three-way coin toss is supposed to determine who's worthy when we fucking deserve to go!"

Stasia looks at me as I sit back down on the pillow where she's been working on me. I feel guilty. Clearly she's not as into football as Lee and I are (born and bred fans, you can't outgrow it) and I shoot her a smile. "Well aren't you gonna finish my make-up?"

Stasia has just told me to go look at myself in her bathroom mirror when her house phone rings. She runs to answer it and I stand in her bathroom, flipping the light on and nearly turning it back off, but not because what I see is awful.

I'm truly speechless. Stasia is some kind of miracle worker. I hadn't paid my hair much attention because of the game, but now….It's practically at my stomach, it's so much longer. And soft to the touch. The smallest nod of my head sends my dark tendrils flying. And if I push my hair away, it falls gently back into place. And my make-up…I've never worn make-up before, but Stasia somehow managed to make my eyes stand out with simple natural browns. But my lips are a rosy red, making them see full and sexy and my teeth seem pure white. I don't know who this creature is looking back at me, but she's beautiful.

"You like it?"

"Stasia, I…thank you."

She smiles, pleased, as she cleans up her magical instruments. I finger my hair giddily as I go sit beside LeAnn who looks so dejected that you would think she was on the football team. "We were so close," she whines.

I rub her back with my other hand and just let her get it out her system. Normally, I would be livid—it sucks being an inch from the playoffs. But we still had one more shot: the coin toss. That and…I think my late night talks with Don are changing my perception of the game. I mean, sure, I went to school with these boys for years—the once star athlete is my cousin for godssake. But I never really thought of the pressure to make every play perfect. To win every game. As an athlete I _should _understand, but the soccer team doesn't exactly pull the same turnout as the football team.

"So what should we do now?" Stasia questions as she comes to sit beside me.

"Um, I'm the virgin, why are you asking me?"

LeAnn snorts and I slap her on the back. "Christ Clara, what the hell?"

"What?" I ask innocently. "You weren't choking?"

She slides away from me, mumbling under her breath and I smile. Turning to Stasia I say, "We could go grab a bite. I'm hungry."

"Wanna go to David's place? It shouldn't be too crowded since everyone will be too upset to go out."

"Sounds good to me," I say with a nonchalant shrug. The less people, the better.

…

Wishful thinking is for saps. We watched long enough to witness our success in the coin toss and somehow failed to anticipate the celebratory demeanor of the town. _Everyone _had come out tonight. It seemed as though the entire high school was out, and it was only when I saw a flash of Ivory hovering over everyone that I realized the team must have come out to celebrate. And wherever they were, so was the party.

"Maybe we should just turn around," I pitch, staring nervously at the throngs of people seated on cars and tables and chairs and loitering around, chatting.

"Why should we, we have just as much right to be here as anyone else?" Stasia said defensively.

"It's not you two I'm worried about."

"Stop being so damn dramatic, Clara," Lee snaps.

I bite back a retort as she climbs out the car. Stasia gives me a sympathetic look before following suit, and I contemplate sitting in the backseat of the car until their return until warily climbing out, hoping to make myself as small as possible.

Pulling my denim jacket tighter around my figure, I lower my gaze as we near the crowd of kids. Most people gaze over us, hardly noticing three more bodies to the seventy or so already crammed at the diner. But I can't help but feel the eyes of some, and Stasia only confirms this when she whispers in my ear, "They can't take their eyes of you!" In my experience, that's not a good thing, but since no food or drink or insult has been hurled my way, I force my gaze up to find that Stasia's partly right. "The guys are totally checking you out!"

I blush as we get in line to place our orders. The place sounds like a hive: the only discernible noise is a low buzz of conversation with the occasional burst of laughter. Spirits are soaring with the prospects of playoffs looming. I wonder briefly how life would be if I was actually a part of the conversation, moving from group to group, laughing, joking, and listening to my peers. Fitting in. This thought brings with it a wave of loneliness. I love LeAnn and Stasia, but the realization that out of thousands of people I'm only openly accepted by handful is disheartening. I suddenly feel so out of place that I have half a mind to race home and bury myself in bed or in studies, like I always do on Friday nights.

"Lookin' good, Baker."

I set my jaw, fingers automatically curling into a fist as I brace myself for the worst. Turning around, I find Austin leering at me. He openly looks me up and down, and I feel my resolve shrink a little under his predatory stare.

"Thanks," I mutter.

I turn around when he says, "Who you tryin' to impress?"

"None of your business."

"Kitty grow some claws now that she's surrounded by her little friends?"

He whispers this in my ear, standing so close that I can feel his hot breath on my ear. I flinch, but try not to show my disgust…or fear. I stare ahead resolutely and Austin, frustrated with my silence, sinks his fingers into my upper arm. I have to clench my teeth to keep from gasping in pain. "This ain't over, Baker."

He slinks away, my arm throbbing and likely bruised. I close the space that appeared as the line moved forward and look up just as Lee turns to face me. "You know what you want?"

I swallow before shaking my head. "I'm actually not that hungry anymore. I'll go find us a table."

I dart off before Lee can protest to my sudden change in attitude. I stumble around awkwardly, ignoring the looks from my peers. I don't know if they're stunned quiet by my physical appearance or my second appearance at a social event. Either way, I'm left alone as I walk around trying to find some kind of space where we can sit down.

"Hey, Clara!"

I hear my name, but it takes me a moment to locate the source. I catch Mike standing, his hand lifted in the air to catch my attention. He waves me over, and I blush as the stares increase as I move to the coveted spot with the football players.

"I thought that was you," he says with a small smile. I'm guessing this is the most happy he's been all season. He's certainly not as jubilant as the rest of the beaming faces, but for the first time, there's something in his eyes that appears hopeful. "You look nice."

"Thanks. It was all Stasia."

"Is she here?" Brian asks casually.

I nod. "She and Lee are in line ordering."

Brian prepares to respond when from behind me we hear, "I just took a piss in the bushes; the line is too damn long."

"That's disgusting, Don," Brian states flatly with a smirk.

Surprised, I turn to find that Don is walking right by me and taking what's apparently his spot next to Mike. "Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do. There're too many damn people here."

"You don't say that at any of the parties."

"That's because I usually don't remember them."

Is he seriously ignoring me right now? I mean, I know I said I didn't want to go public, but acting as if I don't exist? "I should go find Lee and Stasia," I mutter, more to myself than anyone.

"Do you guys wanna sit with us?" Brian asks.

I open my mouth to respond when I notice Don look from me to Brian, confused, before his gaze suddenly jumps back to me in shock. "C-Clara?"

I fidget nervously as Don stares, earning a laugh from the rest of the guys at the table. "I here we all thought you had taken the term asshole to a new level," Brian teases.

"I swear to God, I didn't even recognize you. You look…damn, Clara."

"I know right," Stasia suddenly says from beside me. "You shoulda seen how practically every guy double-taked when we got here."

I shake my head to protest this, but everyone ignores me.

Don frowns, falling silent as Brian scoots down to make room for Stasia and Lee. Mike and Don both scoot apart, leaving a small spot for me in between. I slide into the space, muttering a thanks as Lee shoves a shake and fries under my nose.

"I said I wasn't hungry," I mumble, picking up a fry and nibbling on the end.

"And you'll still finish the food, so just shut up and say thanks."

I find myself smiling despite the dull throb still on my arm. "Thank you."

"You're so welcome," she says cheerfully. She studies me quietly, her face falling. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Wha—oh yeah, I'm fine. Cool. Great even."

Lee huffs, but just shakes her head before eating. I drop my head, focusing intently on the food in front of me. It's one thing that whenever someone walks by and recognizes me I have to put up with the whispers, but just knowing that _He's _lurking around is really freaking me out. Paranoid, I look over my shoulder, as if half expecting him to be standing right behind me. I shiver at the thought.

"What's wrong? Are you cold?"

Before I can say anything, Don's suddenly reaching around me and placing his letterman's jacket over my shoulders. I should protest, but I can see in his eyes that he wants me to give him just this moment. And I cave. I give him a small smile of thanks. I don't know if I leave it as is or if I'm supposed to stick my arms in the sleeves, so I just leave it alone. Lee is staring in shock where Stasia looks like she's about to pee herself from excitement. She might want to hold it, apparently only the bushes are available, and I don't think she's an outdoor kinda gal.

I clear my throat nervously before returning to my food. Even Don falls silent. I feel so uncomfortable with everyone staring at me as if I'm the least deserving to be on the arm of a Varsity Permian Panther football player, let alone Don Billingsley.

Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, a warm hand slips under the table and finds mine, squeezing tightly but quickly, sending a message of reassurance with a simple gesture. A small smile forms on my lips, steadily growing bigger. It takes all my restraint not to reach for his hand and just hold it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Why hello there fellow readers :) Before you start reading, I just want to Thank You once again for your reviews and alerting my story. I know I don't respond (mainly out of sheer laziness, which is a bad thing, I know) but I do enjoy reading what you guys have to say, & I love that you all love Don & Clara. I hope you enjoy this chapter (I throw in a twist I've been trying to write into the story for a while now, but the moment never seemed to present itself). Let me know what you think! **

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"I have to admit, that jacket move was a nice touch."

Don groans, as if embarrassed, and I smile. "I don't know what came over me. You weren't even cold, were you?"

"Not even a little bit. That's what _my _jacket was for."

"Christ, I must've looked like a tool."

I scoff. "I thought it was sweet."

"And you're still wearing my jacket."

I blush. "Oh, sorry." I don't get how these kinds of things work. I prepare to shrug off the jacket (I had taken mine off and switched them out) when Don stopped me with a laugh.

"No, keep it. I like seeing you wear it."

I blush again. Ever since half the senior class watched us walk off together after Don proposed we walk around for a bit (which I appreciated because I was really starting to feel overwhelmed), my face has been red. Don found the entire thing amusing.

"I'm really glad you came out tonight," he says suddenly, looking down at me. "Even if you are a cruel temptress." My laughter is so loud and sudden that it seems to crack through the quiet Odessa air like a whip. "I'm serious! Fuck, Clara you look hot as hell tonight. Even Stasia said—"

"Stasia has a tendency to over exaggerate and you should know that by now," I say reproachfully. But in a softer tone I add, "Thanks."

He looks as though he's about to say something but instead he just looks ahead, simultaneously wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into the side. I don't know how far we've walked, but I would walk to Dallas if I could stay this content.

We wind up at Ratliff, circling the outside of the Stadium in silence. It's really cooled off, and I'm glad for Don's jacket. I feel guilty when I spot the goosebumps trailing up and down his arms, but he assures me he's fine whenever I try to offer his letterman back.

I've never realized how large the stadium is or how secluded it is from the rest of town. It's so quiet and almost foreboding out here. The realization hits me that if Austin had gone any further that morning…I would have been completely helpless. No nearby neighbors or random passerbys to hear me.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when Don pins me against the wall, smirking, taunting me, but I can tell his inquisitive about something. "What's got you such deep thought?"

"Nothing," I say slowly. "Why am I up against a wall?"

"Because apparently it's the only way I could get your attention. I was calling you and you seriously spaced on me."

"Really?"

He laughs before leaning in to kiss me briefly. "Really."

He leans down and I tilt my head back to give him better access. I suddenly realize that I haven't seen him all week. Gaines had them working so hard that he would get home and crash. Which was fine by me because the space allowed me to catch up on some of my studies. But now, as he presses his hips into mine, hands pressed against the wall on either side of my head, and I clench the front of his tee, pulling him closer, I realize how much I missed him. (And this, if I'll be honest).

He runs his tongue across my lower lip and I feel my knees shake. They seem to nearly cave when he presses his tongue to mine. I unconsciously let out a low groan of desire when something catches my eye. "What?" Don asks anxiously.

"I thought I saw a light?"

"What?"

"IS SOMEBODY OUT THERE?"

"The stadium has security?"

"If they do, it sucks," I whisper.

The realization hits us just as a figure comes around and spots us. I don't recognize him but he sure as hell looks like security. "Hey!"

"Fuck!" Don mutters.

He grabs my hand and we take off in the opposite direction. "Hey, get back here!"

I burst out laughing. I don't know why this whole thing seems hilarious to me. Two horny teens busted making out on state property. Go figure. Naturally we thought we were alone. And in all fairness, the security detail must be a recent addition. Perhaps after my attack? I haven't been back since, so it's possible.

I can't tell if there are footsteps sounding behind us, but we don't stop running just in case. I should stop laughing, but I can't. And Don's laughing beside me—pulling me along although we're kinda equally matched—so I don't feel as insane.

We run back into town, breathless, cramping, and still laughing, until we finally collapse in the lawn of my backyard. Damn, I could not stop laughing. Don collapsed in one of our lawn chairs while I leaned on the wall of the house, letting my heart rate slow as I tried to calm down from the rush. But I couldn't. Something about that rush of adrenaline, the thought of nearly being caught. It was all so exciting.

Finally—finally—I felt myself begin to relax. "I need water," I state. I slide open the door and walk in, fixing me a cup of water in the kitchen. Just as I'm leaning against the counter to take a sip, I hear Don walk in. I look up and smile. "You want any—?"

Don stalks towards me and hugs my waist, kissing me so suddenly and fiercely that I drop my cup in surprise. Thank God we only own plastic. I ignore the wet splatter on my jeans as I melt into him. The kiss is different from the others, but a lot like the first time we made out in my bedroom: passionate, uncontrolled, invigorating, and slightly terrifying. I felt like I wasn't in control of my body, that my mind was thinking on its own and telling my body what to do and how to react, but not on a conscious level.

Suddenly we're moving from the kitchen to the hallway, hardly breaking contact except to come up to breathe. And after a brief stint in the hallway, Don is leading me into my room, closing the door behind me before pushing me against the door. He presses himself against me, grabbing the back of my knee and hoisting my leg up in order to place himself between my legs. Suddenly that raging fire returns when he presses his erection into my crotch.

I cry out in lust and my hand reaches out for something to hold on to and finds nothing but the smooth surface of the wall. Don, surprised by my sudden movements, leans back, looking at me. Face flushed and breathing hard, I can't say that I've ever found him more stunningly attractive before. That nervousness returns, but this time I find myself able to sustain his gaze.

His hand gently cups my face, his thumb running across my lower lip before pulling it free from my teeth. He kisses me more slowly this time and I find myself responding the same as before. We walk backwards, falling into a heap on my bed with me on top. I feel myself begin to shake but I try to push it out of my head. Of course I'm nervous. This is it. I think. It feels right, and I know I want Don.

He rolls us over and when I hear him kick off his shoes I feel myself begin to panic a little. He removes his letterman jacket from my arms slowly. Realizing we're half off the bed, I do the only thing that I can actually think of and scoot back, laying ourselves parallel to the direction of the bed. Don doesn't seem to miss a beat. His lips move to my jaw and then to my neck, gently sucking on my skin. I would be lying if I said it didn't feel good. It did. It really, really did. But I also felt like this rock had sunk into my stomach at the idea of having sex. Why had I never bothered to ask anyone about their first time? Is this normal? Surely it has to be because the only thing I've let up my vagina is a tampon, and I'm guessing by the feel of what's straining against Don's pants that he's not the same size as my tampons.

"Don, wait," I breathe, having terrified myself into talking. "I need you to tell me what's about to go down because I'm freaking the hell out and I can't…I can't…"

"Wait, are you okay with this?"

"Yes, of course. I'm just…I don't know. Scared."

"You know I won't hurt you, right?"

"Oh no, of course, of course. I'm just…does it hurt? I've heard some girls bleed their first time, I really don't want to. That's really gross—oh my God, I completely grossed you out, I'm so sorry!"

Don, who had flinched, begins to shake his head.

"I just…oh my God. Oh my God."

"Clara, baby, look at me. Look at me." I do. "Deep breath, mm-kay? Breathe slowly…there you go." I calm down and my head clears a little. I nod my head. "Alright?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say slowly.

He smiles at me, kissing me softly. "Would you like to do the honors?" He's pointing at himself and I shrug. "My shirt."

"Oh. Right. Duh."

I release a shaky laugh as my fingers clench the hem of his tee. I raise it slowly over his head, tossing it to the side as he hovers over me in all his bare-chested glory. I'm full-frontal blushing at this point. Curious, I touch the skin just above his jeans, running my finger from his narrow hip to his flat stomach. I run my fingers over the defining abs before striking up enough courage lay my hand flat on his chest. Part of me is procrastinating, but another part of me can't help but find his body oddly beautiful.

"That tickles," Don breathes.

I feel my lips twitch, but I don't meet his gaze as his fingers run along the hem of my shirt. He lifts slowly, exposing only a few inches at a time. I lean back, stiff as a board, when I sudden sensations throws me for a loop. He kisses my stomach tenderly, leaving a soft, burning trail on my skin. I panic for a moment, but he continues past my breast for the time being. He raises my body and pulls my shirt over my head before adding it to floor. I feel so shy in just jeans and a bra.

Don suddenly sits up with a sad smile. "You're not ready, are you?"

"What? No, of course I am! I'm r-ready."

"Liar," he breathes.

He smiles at me and I feel my eyes burn with shame. Dropping my head I can only mutter a pitiful, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so far…I honestly thought—"

"Don't apologize," he scolds. "I should've have pressured you like that. I just…"

"Lost control," I provide.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, same here. It just felt so nice."

He smiles. "Yeah, it did." He kisses me. "Are you okay?"

I nod my head. His eyes drop to my chest briefly before he clears his throat. I refrain from laughing at his expense. "I'm sorry I got you so worked up."

"Again."

He's teasing, but I really do feel guilty. "I heard cold showers work wonders," I say absentmindedly.

"That's a fucking lie," Don mutters. I laugh. "It's not funny."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh."

I clear my throat as I sit up, sitting criss-cross on my bed before giving Don a hard look. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Umm…I suppose," he draws out, as if wary of the question.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

His eyes widen a bit, clearly caught off guard by my question. "This is…awkward." He looks away from me. "LeAnn never told you—"

"What?" I interrupt. Clearly I misheard. "LeAnn McDougal, Jerrod's twin sister? _My _LeAnn?"

Don looks flustered. "Well, yeah. I mean—"

"I don't…how? She hates you? She told me so herself that you're trouble…"

"It was around the start of the season freshman year," Don admits slowly. "At a party."

I can't speak. I stare, stunned, at the wall ahead. This bubble of betrayal blossoms in my chest. The disbelief that she blatantly lied to me for months when she had—

Don touches my knee and I blink. "I think I need to be alone right now."

Suddenly, the kiss between Brian and me doesn't seem nearly as dramatic.

…

"I'm being overdramatic, aren't I?"

"Well, I—"

"I just…he caught me off guard. I expected Maria, Melissa…anyone really. But never in a million years…"

"She did seem to really dislike him," Stasia volunteers slowly.

"She acted as if she didn't want me to show any interest in Don," I continue. "Is it possible that she could have feelings for him? Half the estrogen in the town do—Christ, how did I not see this coming? But she lost her _virginity _to him, she had to. She's told me before she lost it at a party at the start of high school, but how the hell would I have guessed that it was to fucking Don—!"

"_Shh_, Clara!"

I freeze just as a young girl walks by Stasia's porch with her dog. She's not paying any attention, but that doesn't mean I want her to overhear any part of the conversation. When she's out of earshot, I continue: "Do you think she's developed feelings for him?"

Stasia huffs. "Clara, I know this must really suck, but you honestly know LeAnn a lot better than I do. But at least they did it in the past."

"Yeah, but past means history. I mean…what if whatever brought them together in the first place rekindles or whatever when she's around Don?"

"Booze?"

I realize how stupid I sound, but I just can't shake the hurt that Lee kept this from me. Of course, I haven't exactly been honest, but if the man she lost her virginity to is pursuing me, her best friend, I feel as though I have a right to know.

"How'd it go last night, when you and Don went off?"

Instinctively I blush, but I try to play it cool, hoping she doesn't notice. "It was nice," I whisper, honest. "Until I asked him who he lost his virginity to."

"How did that even come up?"

Shit. "I just asked him," I admit.

"Out of the blue?"

"Yes."

"And he answered."

"Yes."

"Just like _that_," she emphasizes with a snap of her fingers.

"God, yes, just like that."

She snickers, trying to hold it in. I stare until I replay the words in my head. "Get your head outta the gutter you perv."

She bursts out into laughter and I can't help but smile. "Well…he's being honest with you."

"I know. I'm not mad, honest. Just…"

"It can hurt, yes. But you know LeAnn means well, especially when you're involved."

Something in her voice changes and I look up to see her looking flatly, almost sadly, at the empty street. I drop my gaze, ashamed. "Lee's complicated, Stasia. It's not you."

"I just don't get why she seems to hate me so much. She didn't even want to do the slumber party thing until you agreed to it!"

"Lee…is a good friend, and a good person," I begin slowly. "But, her attitude doesn't stem from a coveted friendship. She used to pick on me too."

Stasia looks at me, completely stunned. "What?"

I nod my head, smiling softly. "We did not get along at all. And I had to see her every soccer season since sixth grade. She hated me and I wished the opposing teams' defense knocked her on her ass a little harder every game."

"But…you guys are so close. I assumed—"

"We're close now, but we almost came to blows in the middle of a playoff game. We just could not make ourselves get along on the field. We got kicked off by the ref and coach forced us to sit on the bus 'till the game was over. Unfortunately, Lee and I are the best forwards on the team and we got killed after we left. But, somehow, arguing on that bus we somehow came to some sort of mutual…understanding. Which, became respect which, in turn, blossomed into a really twisted sort of friendship."

"That is twisted," Stasia breathed.

"Yep. But I think Lee acts partially as though to make up for the years of bullying me. I love her to death but she can't protect me from everything like she believes she can. She can't keep fighting my battles for me. I'm a big girl, and if I've made it this far than clearly I'm not as weak as everyone thinks I am."

Don's words echo in my head, but this time with new meaning and understanding. I feel as guilty for kicking him out as I do for ditching Stasia. "I'm sorry again I never came back," I tell her again.

"Sweetie, for a hunk like Don, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you."

I sigh. "He is really hot." She laughs and I almost tell her about how far we got, how I took his shirt off and felt his abs. But I hold my tongue for now.

I invite Stasia to come back with me so that I can make up for the time we lost last night. We talk animatedly as we walk, a heads ducked against the cool winter. Odessa never gets freezing temperatures, but as it's nearing Thanksgiving, the temperatures have dropped compared to our hundred degree summer.

"Jesus, it's freezing," I mutter, rubbing my arms as I shut the front door behind us.

"You call that freezing?" Stasia scoffs.

"Look Yankee," I say sternly, "we Texans have a different idea of winter, alright?"

She rolls her eyes and I smile. "I'll be right back, Janie keeps a spare blanket in her closet. Feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."

I go into Janie's room, but I'm surprised to find that the checkered blanket Janie's grandmother knitted for her missing from its usual assignment. I check the floor of the closet and under the bed but no luck. I check the trunk last, and lo and behold it's sitting right on top. I move to join Stasia when I freeze. Turning back to the contents of the trunk I spy a stack of stamped envelopes held together with a rubberband.

I pick up the stack, seeing as how the first one is addressed to me, but I've never seen it before. I close the trunk slowly and set the blanket on top. I remove the rubberband slowly, fingers shaking because, in my heart, I know what it is. And as I flip through the different colored envelopes, all addressed to me, I realize that LeAnn's not the only one who has been keeping secrets from me.

...

By the time I hear the key in the front door, it's nearly ten at night. I haven't stopped crying since I opened the first birthday card, stamped on my first birthday. But it's more than just birthday cards; there is a multitude of letters from a man named Christopher Bailey. My father.

"Clara, are you home?"

I don't answer. My bedroom door opens and Janie freezes when she sees my face. And then she spots the letters. "Clara—" she begins quickly.

"How. Could. You?"

"Clara—"

"How could you keep something like this from me?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what? What the hell could be so dangerous about growing up with a father?"

"Clara, I understand you're upset but watch your mouth, I'm still your mother."

"You really want to reprimand my _language_, right now, Janie. _That's _what you're _worried about_?"

I could tell I threw her for a loop. Never in my seventeen years have I raised my voice, let alone talked back. Today is just full of surprises apparently. I hold up the last letter. "I don't know if he hurt you. He doesn't talk much about your relationship. But you had no right to decide for me if I was allowed to know my father. No right."

I storm past her, physically shaking from anger. "Clara," she calls out, following close behind me.

I take off in a run the second I reach the sidewalk. "Just leave me alone!"

…

I knock hesitantly on the door, strongly aware that it had to be nearly midnight and they could be sleeping. But I had never been inside the house, and knocking on the window seemed like a bad idea.

I wait for a moment, debating if I should knock again or just leave, when the door opens. Thankfully, it's Don standing before me in just sweatpants, groggy-eyed and surprised. I realize I must look a mess, face tear-stained, red, and raw from being wiped so frequently on my sleeve.

"Clara?"

"I'm sorry, if I woke you…I just…didn't know where else to go."

My voice breaks and I cover my mouth to keep from completely breaking down on his porch. Don steps aside and I step in slowly, aware of how vulnerable I am right now. But he's the only person I could think of who might understand—or at least welcome me in without question.

"Can I get you anything?" I shake my head slowly. Mistaking my silence he adds, "It's just me right now."

I shake my head again. "I just don't want to be alone right now," I manage to croak.

I bite my trembling lip as Don pulls me into his warm chest. This time, I have no reservations about wrapping my arms around his waist, tucking my head under his chin. "Do you need to stay the night?"

"I couldn't, I can't impose like that—"

"Clara…do you need to stay the night?"

I blink. "Please."


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

I woke up to a moment of panic and confusion. The sun was streaming brightly through the closed blinds and when I turned over to avoid the light, I opened my eyes to a room that quite clearly wasn't mine. In fact, it was chaotic. I don't move, eyes roaming my surroundings with caution. I take in the clothes shoved haphazardly in random places, as if someone had tried to tidy and failed terribly. I blinked when I recognized a certain letterman jacket slung across the closet door handle and I breathed. Suddenly last night comes rushing back so forcefully that I can't breathe for a moment. The letters…Janie…my father.

I sit up slowly, my lids heavy and swollen from crying, as if they had absorbed the water like a sponge. I throw the covers off, jeans and tee from yesterday wrinkled. I don't want Don to see me like this. I don't have a pretty 'good morning' appearance. Christ, I can't even brush my teeth.

I climb out of bed, wary that I've never been here before and have no clue who is actually home. The last thing I need right now is to run into Charles Billingsley. I open the bedroom door slowly, poking my head out and listening for any giveaways as to who is home. I hear nothing but soft sounds from the kitchen, and that could be anybody. I debate waiting in the room when a figure suddenly steps into the hallway.

"Hey, I thought I heard something."

I open the door wider, shyly. "Yeah, I wasn't sure who was up, so—"

"Oh, it's still just me. Dad must've gone over to Flippy's."

"Oh. Are they serious?"

Don shrugs, clearly not caring. I wonder if he thinks of his mom back in Oklahoma at times like this. "You hungry?"

I smile. "Starving."

Breakfast is a rather silent affair. I eat slowly, still aware of the constrictions in my throat. I can tell that Don is bursting for me to tell him what's going on. I kind of cried myself to sleep last night, so he still has no idea why I'm in the condition I'm in. I don't know if I have the strength to tell him; I'm still processing all this information myself.

"This is delicious, Don," I say politely, try to break the uncomfortable silence that has consumed us. The chocolate chip pancakes are really good though.

"Mom taught me how to make 'em," he says fondly. "Told me that the best way to impress a woman is to know how to cook."

"Well she sounds like a smart woman."

He chuckles. "Yeah…"

I finish my breakfast in silence, setting down the fork just as Don jumps up. "I'll get that." He grabs my plat before I can protest, and so I slouch back in my seat, wary that any moment he's gonna ask me to spill the beans.

I stand up, prepared to defend my silence when Don steps back into the dining room. "Do you wanna shower and get cleaned up? There's a spare toothbrush you can use if you'd like."

Thrown, I nod slowly. "Sure, I'd really appreciate that."

He leads me to the bathroom and shows me how to work the hot water. "Wait, I don't have a change of clothes."

"You can just wear something of mine," he offers casually.

Nice try. "As much as I'm sure you'd love that, that's not gonna work."

"Why?"

"Because the only thing of yours that fits me properly is likely your hat. Everything else is too big."

"I can give you a tee and you can throw your jeans back on."

I open my mouth to protest when I realize that it's not that bad of an idea. I usually wear jeans twice before throwing them in the laundry anyway. "Fine."

But it's nice too, not having to go home and face Janie just yet. She's probably at work now…unless she called in. I'm sure she's accumulated enough vacation days considering she usually doesn't miss her shifts. Either way, I don't think I can handle being around her right now. I try to be aware of how long I'm in the shower so I don't use up the hot water. I'm able to shave time off by not worrying about washing my hair. Although I'm sure the steam is bringing some of my curls back by now.

I step out, smelling like a man's soap, and wrap the spare towel left out for me around my frame. I dry off quickly and dress before brushing my teeth and tossing the toothbrush in the trash so no one else uses it on accident. I appreciate Don taking me in like this, but I'm not planning on spending another night here.

I walk into Don's room just as he pulls his shirt over his head. I turn my back. "Oh, sorry, I should've knocked."

"Why?" he taunts. "It's not like you haven't seen my chest before. In fact, I daresay, you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit."

I fidget while staring at the hallway wall. I can hear him move but I don't realize his position until he pulls me into the room, closing the door behind us. I barely smile as he spins me around, pulling me into his still bare chest. I must admit, he does have a really—_really_—nice body.

I avoid his gaze but I can feel his eyes probing me. "Baby, talk to me. You're starting to freak me out."

"It's nothing—"

"Bullshit. You don't cry like you did last night over nothing."

"Don, just don't worry about it—"

"I'm not worried about 'it', I'm worried about you—"

"Will you just stop?"

"Why the hell are you acting so defensive….Clara, does this have something to do with the son of a bitch who attacked you at Ratliff?"

Oh, _now _someone remembers him. Whenever he's actually a factor in my current state of being, no one bats an eye at his sudden appearance. "No, Don, it has nothing to do with him."

"Clara, you don't have to protect him—"

"I'm not protecting him and this has nothing to do with him."

"Then why can't you tell me why you're so upset?"

I can't look him in the eyes. How can I look Don in the eye and tell him that I discovered a lifetimes worth of letters from my absentee father who apparently wanted me and loves me, though he doesn't know me, when Don has such a shitty relationship with his existent father? How much shittier of a girlfriend can I be, let alone human being?

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Don, I shouldn't've come."

I turn my back to him and open the door, stumbling into the hallway. He follows hotly on my heels, pestering me with questions. I reach the back door and slide it open before turning on my heel. I have to stand on my toes, but I manage to plant a deep kiss on him. "I'll explain everything once I have a better understanding of what…it even is. But for now, I'm fine, I promise. And thank you, for…"

I don't know how to word it, but he doesn't seem to care. He kisses me again but I can tell he's trying to get me to stay. I push on his chest before taking my leave.

…

I regret not taking advantage of our time together that weekend…or at least not being such a bitch before leaving, because the following weeks were hectic for the football team as State's loomed just around the corner. Gaines had them working their asses off that Don was virtually non-existent in his little late-night visits and because of my rule, we couldn't actually be together in public. Whenever I saw him I had to settle for a lingering stare, praying no one noticed or suspected anything. In actuality, it was worse. I absolutely hated that he did this to me: made me feel like I needed him. No, not needed. _Wanted _him, craved him, which felt even worse. No, I wasn't dependent on him, but dammit if I didn't miss him at times.

A week before State's and I was sitting in the cafeteria pushing my food around. The guys had grown reclusive from the public, and who could blame them? All they heard was talk about football and State's. They had taken to eating off campus, if they even came back at times. Naturally, their teachers excused it. "If it helps them relax and win State's, I'll take their test for them," I had overheard one geography teacher robustly exclaiming in the teacher's lounge. It was like this every year.

"Clara, there you are."

I look up to find Coach Sanchez (the head coach for girls' varsity soccer) smiling down at me. Standing behind her is an older gentleman with a familiar logo on his shirt that makes my heart race.

"Clara, this is Richard Meyers, he's a scout from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill."

I can't breathe. He's smiles warmly at me and holds out his hand. "I've heard great things about you from Ms. Sanchez, Ms. Baker. It's an honor to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Sir," I squeak, shaking his hand. I clear my voice. "It's an honor to meet you, too."

"If you have time, Ms. Baker, I'd love to discuss some things with you in private, with Ms. Sanchez of course."

"Oh, no, of course not. Just let me grab my things."

I begin shoving my lunch back into my bag, ignoring how Lee and Stasia are beaming at me. I give them a quick smile before following my coach and Mr. Meyers out the cafeteria.

…

It's a shame Janie and I aren't talking, because I'd love to share my good news. But I'm too stubborn and so is she. Mr. Meyers claims that, despite being an out-of-state applicant, my chances of getting into the university are highly likely—and with a sports scholarship—guaranteed. No amount has been set yet since the season hasn't started, but considering my coach let it "slip" (as she later explained it to me when we were alone) that other universities were interested, but apparently with my minority status, grades, athleticism, and low-income background, I could get a full ride. Even better, Coach wasn't lying when she said other schools were interested. Without my knowledge, she had contacted scouts from nearly every school I had applied to, and many had called back: Columbia University, UCLA, Northwestern, and the University of Texas at Austin.

I had already shared the good news with Lee after she had called asking what happened, but other than that, no one knew. Don was busy, Stasia wouldn't care although I'm sure she'd be happy for me, and Janie…

I shuffled out of bed to the stack of cards on my desk, sitting in the chair as I picked up a random card. I stared at it, wondering how things would have been different had my father been around. Christopher Bailey. Was he Irish? I don't know much about surnames, but Bailey seems Irish. Is he a Texas native? Did he move here? How did he meet Janie? Did he love her as much as he claims to love me? Why did he never try to find me if he wanted me so badly?

So many letter, and yet still so many questions. There's no number, but there is an address. He's in Dallas…or was. The last letter was postmarked almost a year ago. A person can only write so many letters in seventeen years before giving up after no response. All this time…wasted. I think that's why I'm so angry at Janie. All those years she heard me cry myself to sleep because I believed that no matter what I did, I was unwanted. Unloved. And all this time, proof sat buried in her trunk that someone I believed hated me just like the rest of the world…didn't. Knowing that both parents, despite being two different races, wanted me could've had a huge impact on my life. No one could taunt me about how Janie was a tramp, or I was a bastard…well, okay, I still was, but if my parents had stayed together it wouldn't have been as obvious unless I had told someone.

I run my fingers through my hair, literally feeling the overload of so many thoughts and what ifs. I wonder if he watched football. The chances are high that he does…it is Texas. Does he know that Odessa is playing Dallas Carter for the State Championship? Does he think about me every time that flashes on the TV or is broadcasted over a local radio station?

I wish he had included a picture of himself. I'd love to know what he looks like. Do I have his eyes, or is my hazel a mixture of his green and Janie's browns? Do I get my unruly curls from his side of the family? Is he shy like me or is he outgoing like Janie? Is he tall like Don or average? So much of me comes from him, and I don't even know what.

Thinking about it all makes my eyes burn more. As much as I love Janie for raising me by herself, I don't think I have it in me to forgive her. At least not anytime soon. I mean…I could understand if maybe he was abusive or an asshole. But judging from the letters, he seems anything but. That's obviously not a good way to judge someone, but I can't help but have this feeling that Christopher Bailey is, in actuality, one of the good ones.

_One of the good ones…_

Don.

I stare at my window, as if suddenly expecting him to knock. I feel guilty for the way I acted. He was right: I was acting defensively. I know Don wants nothing more than for me to show him how much I actually trust him…but I don't tell anyone anything about how I'm feeling. In all honesty, no one has earned it. I like Don a lot but…despite the close physical aspects of our relationship, I'm not ready to open up to him—in more ways than one, if I think about it.

But despite everything, I do miss him. I feel relaxed around him. Almost like myself. Normal. It was a nice feeling. I feel as though I should tell him this, so that he at least knows that I acknowledge the effort he's making and that, one day, I hope to return the favor. Just not yet.

So much has happened this year. I can't help but speculate that my attack at Ratliff was some kind of catalyst for the unfolding events…and it wasn't even Christmas. The thought left me winded and exhausted. I returned the cards to their new spot in the drawer of my desk, shutting it firmly behind me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Just when I get the hang of one version of this site they go & update it on me. It's getting as bad as Facebook up in this piece (damn you Zuckerburg). But alas, I have update 2 days in a row, & although daily updates won't become a thing, I did feel as though I owed you amazingly faithful & unbelievably patience readers a little treat. I got stuck for a little while & worked on some other projects & waited for inspiration to strike! I expect the next update sometime next week, but until then, now that I do read your reviews and I love seeing that you're following the story! I hope you enjoy this chapter (Don & Clara take things to the next level) ;)**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

It was pandemonium in Odessa early Saturday morning. I've never seen so much white and black. The energy of the town was out of control. Banners and signs were created for the football team and everyone was making plans to follow the charter bus (which would carry the team) to Houston where we were playing in the Astrodome. The game that would decide the State Champions is tonight, and I haven't seen Don in nearly a month.

I was desperate for some kind of contact, but applications for colleges picked up and so did my school work. The football team may get special privileges as far as exams go, but unfortunately the rest of us normal people don't. I wasn't bitter. It was just the way of Odessa. But I felt guilty for avoiding Don. And I'm sure the way I snapped at him, he probably assumed I needed space and would reach out to him whenever I was ready.

They leave for Houston at noon from Ratliff stadium parking lot. That was in twenty, which gave me enough time to say what I needed to say to Don and…

And what?

Declare my feelings publicly for Don? Highly unlikely. But I was seriously considering it. I need to tell him I'm sorry, but more importantly, I want to be able to wish him luck before his final championship game. Win or lose, I just want him to know. But would he want me there? He talks constantly of us being able to go out in public—critics be damned—but what if he suddenly changes his mind when faced with the prospect? Should I wait? I honestly could not think of a better time than now.

I quickly made up my mind.

I drove above the speed limit, aware of how little time I actually had to pull this off. I felt pumped on nerves and adrenaline. This could either go really good or really bad.

Surprisingly, the parking lot was fairly…empty. It's not as if it's closed, but I guess everyone is at home making final preparations before the team leaves. I pull up beside a familiar car. Uncle LV turns at my entrance, surprised etched across his face before giving me a soft smile. I return it, shaky, as I shut off the engine and clamor out of my car.

"Got room for one more, Coach?"

I pause as Gaines allows my cousin sanction on the bus. My heart goes out to him in ways I never thought possible. I can only imagine how much this must be hurting him. I'm reminded of when Don was telling me of his struggles at home with his father. I've been so blind. Even James was clearly hurting…and I had said nothing. Asked nothing. Thought nothing, but of my own problems. And I think, in a way, I knew that, I just didn't know I knew. Why the hell else would I be preparing to risk public scrutiny and humiliation for a boy a barely know.

_Because Don is not just any boy_, I berate myself silently.

Taking a deep breath, I send my first quick prayer in years. _God, give me strength_. Breathing, I turn to the bus, searching among the familiar faces for the one I need to see most. I find him, staring at me at the entrance of the bus, right in front of James. Don's gaze barely leaves mine as he steps down, allowing James to get on before him. My cousin, looks at Don and follows his gaze to me. Slowly but surely, everyone is aware of my presence and it sets my nerves on edge.

I take small steps towards Don, arms crossed protectively over my chest. "Fuck you doing here, muttly?"

Fuck. Austin.

I freeze, face heating up as part of the bus roars with laughter. The rest are silent, gazing curiously at me and Don. I can feel minds connecting the dots. Odessa is smart when they want to be. Don's stare hardens and he shakes his head at me as if telling me, _Don't listen to them_. That I find funny, considering his temper is quicker to ignite than mine.

When we stand a foot apart, his presence becomes so overwhelmingly strong I have to refrain from losing control like I normally would when we're alone. "What are you doing here?"

I lick my lips nervously when someone calls out, "Billingsly, you tappin' that ass?"

"I hope to God you wore a condom!"

"Clara has plenty—"

"The next asshole that makes a crack about my baby cousin is gonna get a crutch up their white ass."

I blush harder, but thankfully the comments become more or less stifled. But looking at Don, I begin to panic. Everything I had planned to say fell out of my head the second Austin opened his damn mouth. Humiliation seeped into my veins and clogged all thought processing. Don stared at me expectantly.

So I kissed him.

No thinking required, I pulled his head down and kissed him. And when I felt his arms wrap around my hips, the most amazing warmth spread through my limbs. I felt light as he kissed me back with vigor. Someone started hooting and hollering on the bus, and several others followed suit. I couldn't tell if they were taunting to taunt or to hurt me, but at the moment, I didn't care.

"Billingsly, let's go!"

I broke this kiss, breathing, but when I saw his smile I almost melted. "You have to go."

"Do you have any idea what this means to me?"

_I just hope it's worth _it. His voice was so soft that I felt my face burn. "I'm sorry it took me so long—"

He kissed me again until his name was called again by Coach Gaines. I pushed on his chest, smiling. His gaze hardly wavers until he's nearly pushed onto the bus by Coach. I touch my lips, smiling, as the bus pulls out of the lot.

…

I told Lee and Stasia the truth on the drive to Houston. Lee sulked in the backseat while Stasia screeched sentiments of joy. It was a rather awkward opposition to be honest. But at least they weren't upset. Well, Lee was because I hadn't told her, but we still need to have a conversation about who doesn't tell who what. The drive provided ample time for facts to be straightened and questions answered. I even told them how far Don and I had gotten the night we made it to playoffs. Everything. It was comforting, to have my third biggest secret out in the open. It was a weight off my shoulders, lying to my best friends about something I desperately wished to tell them.

I also took the opportunity to ask them questions. Lee was more talkative here, which I appreciated, because my ideas about sex were so off I felt borderline stupid.

"Make sure he doesn't just shove it in you," Lee mutters bitterly, "that hurts like a bitch."

"Oh, I wonder if he's into foreplay. That's always fun!"

"Jesus Christ, Clara, make sure he wears a condom."

Stasia nodded and I felt like a prepubescent child. I was inexperienced not ignorant. But I let them coach me on the dos and don'ts of sex. It was the least I could do. And besides, it's not like it wasn't all _un_helpful. Some of what they were talking about was kind of…exciting. And Stasia noticed when I started fidgeting in the seat.

"You're thinking about him," she taunted.

Oh, I was thinking terrible things about him. I really shouldn't be driving. My friends both laugh at my expense, teasing me when I only blush harder.

Needless to say, I was happy when we finally arrived at the astrodome with the rest of the caravan and found our seats. The conversation quieted since we could easily be overheard, but judging by the looks I was getting from some of our classmates, the _who _of our conversation had somehow already reached the knowledge of others and been established as either a lie or unbelievable.

Someone shoved me roughly from behind and a familiar voice hissed, "You're dead."

Maria. I turned in my seat and gave her a taunting smile. She kept walking and I felt the smile leave my face. "Clara, don't look like that. She can't hurt you."

I shake my head, not wanting to talk about it right now. Maria wasn't the first and she won't be the last, no point in trying to make a scene now. With a few minutes left until the teams step onto the field, the stadium is already filled to capacity. White on one side, red on the other. It's surreal, being in the astrodome for the state championship game. And nerve wracking…I can just imagine how the guys feel.

…

My voice is horse, my heard is pounding, I think I have an ulcer, and if we get one more touchdown we win. We have a minute left in the fourth quarter, and I just witnessed what is likely the most spectacular Permian plays in history. With a turnover thanks to Brian, Panthers re-gained the ball. Everyone has been creating art on that field, the likes of which I have never seen before. And before I was all, _win or lose, I'll be proud_. And that holds true, but being a touchdown away from going all the way puts it in perspective. I wanna win. I wanna win so bad the game is unbearable to watch. But as a Permain with friends and a boyfriend on the field, it's my obligation to watch every lousy, dirty play by Dallas with my fingers crossed.

"Jesus, Clara, I can't hear."

I blink, Don's name dying on my lips. Blushing, I quiet down. Considering he was helped off the field with a dislocated shoulder and then returned to give us our first down with seconds left, and I was too proud not to be ecstatic. Stasia and Lee grin at me.

I clutch their hands for support as the clock counts down to zero. _Please_, I think, biting my lip hard. I watch Mike run the ball towards the endzone with heavy heart palpitations. "I can't see, is it in?" Someone asks from behind me.

There's so much activity going on, I can't tell. I hold my breath.

"It's no good. It's too short!"

For a second I can't comprehend what this means until I see DALLS CARTER STATE CHAMPIONSHIP 1988 flashing across from me. My grip loosens on Lee and Stasia's hands, eyes blurring in disbelief. Our side is silent in processing disbelief as hoards of red overtake the field. My heart breaks for our team who are consoling each other in silence, but I must admit, I'm crying a little for me to. Nothing would have been better to end our senior year than with a championship. And now, I only get _what ifs_.

But damn…what a game.

"You okay," Stasia asks me.

I nod slowly, wiping my face and feeling ridiculous for crying. "I just can't believe it's over," I admit. I look at Lee. "No more Odessa football."

She understands my sentiments and her face reddens with unshed tears. "This is our last game," she whispers.

For the first time, we're struck with the fact that at the end of the year, we're done. Not just with football, but with Odessa. With high school. I burst into tears. Somehow, with all that has happened this year, I had forgotten that I am, indeed, a graduating senior. Now, faced with the knowledge that I will never watch Odessa take home a state championship as a Permian Panther but as a Permian Panther alumni is heavy to deal with. Lee and Stasia both hug me, Lee and me crying.

I begin laughing at the realization and slowly begin to relax. Wiping my face, we gather our things and begin to follow the crowd out. However, Stasia taps me on the shoulder and whispers, "Look."

I follow her pointing finger to number twenty-six on the field being intercepted by none other than Charles Billingsly. "Oh God, no," I whisper.

But I apparently had nothing to fear. In a shocking display of affection, Charles holds his son and I watch in awe as he slips his own championship ring on his son's finger. The initial smile that graces my face freezes with the realization that I still have not told anyone about my father and I have made no move to contact him. Suddenly, looking at Don and his father, I miss the man I never knew, if only because I can't help but think of all the times I wanted a father to hold me like that. Like he's proud, no matter what.

"Clara, are you okay?"

I blink, my emotions getting the better of me. "Yeah," I whisper. "We should get going; it's a long drive back."

They exchange glances but I ignore them. Just as I prepare to descend down the stairs, this strange feeling that I'm being watching snatches at my instincts. Nervously, I glance over my shoulder, prepared for the worse, when I feel myself relax. I don't know how he does it, but Don managed to find me in a sea of black and white. He takes his helmet off, holding my gaze. I smile as he gestures for me to come to the field. I shake my head. He nods. I shake, laughing as he begins to pout.

"Go," Lee tells me. "We'll meet you at the car."

I nod. I head down the steps but veer right, towards the field. It's surreal, looking around and seeing what these boys have been seeing. The astroturf is soft under my feet. Don walks towards me, face stoic but his eyes are so emotionally burdened it's like reading an open book. I don't know what will happen between Don and his father now. If things will get better or worse with football over. But I don't care to ask right now.

Honestly, I can't close the gap between us fast enough. He looks pretty hurt, so I don't throw myself at him like I would like to. I smile at him as he takes my face in his hands. He kisses me quickly before saying, "Leave your window open tonight."

…

The feel of my bed sinking underneath me jolts me awake in a panic before I recognize Don's sturdy frame trying to squeeze through. Smiling tiredly, I move my legs so he doesn't step on them as he clamors clumsily through. Closing the window behind him, he turns to me. "You were asleep."

"It's fine," I whisper. "Just a long drive back. The girls and I took shifts."

He nods before slipping his shoes off and lying beside me in bed. He smells good, like that soap I borrowed what seemed like a lifetime ago. "I missed you," I admit shyly.

He hums, pleased. Rolling over, he hugs my waists before burrowing his face in my neck. "I couldn't stop thinking 'bout you," he whispers in my ear. "There were some moments when it was killing me to stay away from you."

"Well…unless I'm lynched by the mob, I don't think that'll be a problem anymore."

His face hardened and I mentally slapped myself. He just lost State's, I could at least give him this. "I'm sorry. I'm really shitty at this girlfriend thing."

"Saying the wrong thing doesn't make you a shitty girlfriend." He kisses my neck. "You need to relax…and I could think of a few activities that would help with that."

The suggestive tone of voice made me squirm. I could feel his lips curl into a smile against my neck as they gently brushed over my skin. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation. His lips sought mine soon enough. He grabbed the back of my head almost roughly and I turned into his body, wrapping my arms around his neck and throwing one leg over his. He clutched my hip tightly and when he ground his erection into my crotch, I felt my body go aflame with desire but I couldn't help but break the kiss in amusement. "Already?"

"Bite me."

He kisses me once more before settling down beside me. "I'm so exhausted."

I roll over and place my arms on his chest before resting my chin on top, looking up at him. "I was so proud of you guys today. That was a game of the ages."

He's silent. "I can't believe that was it," he mumbles. "No more football."

"I know." I push his hair from his face.

He purrs as my fingers skim his forehead and mess with his hair. "I love when you do that."

I smile, my confidence soaring at the compliment. "You're so beautiful, it makes no sense," he mutters, staring at me from underneath his lids. I frown, my hand pausing as if it too were processing this. "Why do you do that? Why don't you believe anything I say when it's a compliment?"

I blink, embarrassed. "People aren't exactly tripping over their feet to hook up with me," I whisper, staring pointedly at him. "Get called ugly long enough, pretty soon you start to believe it."

Don is silent, aware that he's upset me. "Look at me," he whispers. "Clara, look at me."

I can't. I sit up, frustrated, and tell him firmly, "Can we not talk about this please?"

Frowning, he follows me, grabbing my hip so that I can't move away. "No, we're going to talk about this now." This time, he grabs my chin and forces my gaze. His green eyes are full of such concern that I can hardly bare to look at them. I drop my gaze and I can hear him sigh, realizing that this is the best he's going to get. "What's wrong, Clara. Ever since that night you showed up at my doorstep I can tell that something has been bothering you. Is it Maria, because I promise you I will—?"

"No, it's not Maria…this time," I admit slowly.

He takes my face in his hands and probes further. "You can talk to me."

I mull over this for what feels like a lifetime. I can hear Don patiently breathing in my ear and the sound is surprisingly comforting. I gently lower his hands from my face, making up my mind to tell him the truth. Or rather, show it to him. I receive the stack of cards and letters from my desk and drop them in his lap. He looks at me, curious, and I nod my consent. I sit down at the office chair by my desk, pulling my knees to my chest as he begins with the first letter on top.

I watch with indifferent eyes as he makes his way through each written letter from my father. His face reveals nothing, and I wish so badly for him to say something. I still refuse to talk with Janie, and having someone else know this burden of mine feels almost freeing.

When he finally set down the last piece of correspondence, he looks at me with such warmth that I feel my face scrunch up, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from completely bawling in front of him. I squeeze my eyes shut and a few tears escape, rolling down my cheeks. I take a few deep breaths to regain my composure and when I feel stable I drop my hand and open my eyes.

Don just looks at me. Unable to meet his gaze, I stare at the floor, rubbing my hands across my bare thighs as I whisper, "You're the only person who knows…besides Janie."

He nods, as if expecting this. "So, what are you gunna do?"

"Do? There's nothing to do. I'm leaving in less than a year, what's the point? So what if I find him? We're not going to be some merry family that gets to live happily ever after. You of all people should know that I suck at relationships and I suck at confrontation. By the time we even develop some kind of connection, I won't be here."

"Why not? Where else are you going to be?"

I freeze, realizing my mistake. My cheeks burn with shame as I whisper, "I've gotten two really good soccer scholarships offers from Columbia University and UNC. If I get accepted…I don't know which one I would go to though."

"You're not staying in Texas."

"Don…I hate this place."

"You hate me."

"I didn't say that."

"Well I live here. LeAnn and Stasia and Chavo and Mike…we all live here. Do you hate us too?"

"Don't sit there and act like you've been there for me! You've known me since August and I've been getting bullied since I was seven. Don't act like you and your friends stood up for me and you forget that Lee used to give me hell too. Now stop twisting my damn words!"

Now it's Don's turn to look away. After a few minutes of silence in which I'm collecting my breath, Don speaks. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. It's just…you just caught me off guard. I mean, fuck, I knew you were better than Odessa but I just never expected you to leave Texas. North Carolina, New York…" he snorts in disbelief. "Damn, that's far."

It takes me a few moments to feel myself relax but when I do, I go to sit beside him. Taking his hand in mine, I gently kiss his jawline. He holds my cheek before turning his face. We kiss for only a moment before he whispers, "You should contact your father. You'll always regret it if you don't."

I nod. "But for now…what were you saying before about some activities that would help me relax?"


	15. Chapter 15

**This is for the fabulous reviewers who have the patience to put up with my late, late, late posting. I hit a road block with this story, but I've had this chapter ready for a while now. I know where I want this story to go, but getting there has been half the battle. Go figure. But this one is super long, IMO, but I hope you all enjoy it just the same. R&R!**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Monday at school was weird in that Don and I were now, as far as the school was concerned, a couple. I couldn't tell who the scrutiny was harder from: the guys or girls. But both kept their eyes trained on me, as if trying to figure out what it was about me that could attract the attention of Don Billingsly. I have to admit, that hurt. But I ignored them the way they ignored me for years.

Lunch, however, was entirely different, but in a good way. Because Don could finally sit beside me as my boyfriend and not as the best friend of Stasia's boyfriend, Brian. The cafeteria hummed with the usual buzz of high school, but the tone was different as eyes shifted lazily over Don's arm wrapped around my hips, pulling me practically into his lap. It was if he was daring someone to say something against us. And although I felt he was being overdramatic, I was pleased with his protective stance.

I was also eyeing Maria closely. She hadn't made a move yet although she had had since Saturday to do so. I guess she had peaked at condoms in my locker. The next best thing would be to fake a HIV report, and she doesn't have the brains to think of that let alone pull it off.

I realize that something's moving in on the cookie Lee had brought me from the lunch line and without thinking I slap at it. Don swears loudly and yanks his hand back and I shoot him a cold look. "Get your own."

"See, now you're just showing off in front of your friends," he mumbles, removing his arm from my waist to rub his sore hand. "That actually hurt."

"You dislocated your shoulder two days ago and _that _hurt?"

"I don't think I appreciate your tone."

"So?"

He opened his mouth to respond when a snickering Stasia interrupts and says, "You two are adorable."

"Never thought I'd see the day a woman would put Billingsly in his place," Brian teases with a mouthful of fries. He had been pretty chill around me lately, and it was nice to know that we could put that awkward kiss behind us now. He smiled at me and I returned it, grateful that the tension was gone.

"She is not putting me in any kind of place," he protested indignantly.

I snort and the table cackles with laughter. Chuckling lightly I reach for my cookie and split it in half. Taking a bite of mine I shove the other half into Don's open mouth, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say in retort. I laugh at his bewildered stare and he shakes his head, but seems to swallow the cookie whole. His arm returns to my waist, his thumb sneaking under the hem of my shirt and stroking the flesh softly. There were so many hidden promises in such a simple gesture that my body went aflame with desire. Thankfully, no one really seemed to notice.

We parted after lunch. I was taking much more upper level courses than he, so we had no classes in common. In all honesty, that was alright with me. I needed to focus in school, not get distracted by Don. Not to mention Don had more or less invited himself over after school in order to formally introduce himself to Janie. With our silent argument still going strong, I had told him this was unnecessary, but he insisted that he "be on good terms with the mother before deflowering the daughter". Classy.

The end of the school period brought with it a pinch of excitement at seeing Don and nerves at the fact that he was actually going to meet Janie. While I was rushing to my locker, I didn't even pay attention to anything until suddenly I was sprawled on the tile floor, my binders and textbooks spilling from my arms. The hallway exploded in laughter and I didn't have to look to make out Maria's telltale high-pitched shriek of amusement. Bitch.

I began gathering some of my things, cheeks red but trying to ignore it, as per usual. I was expecting something, which lessened the sting a little. I would've been foolish to think that just because I was holding hands with Don in the hallways I would no longer be a target. Just as I reached for my AP Chemistry text, a heeled foot shot out, nearly hitting my hand, and kicked my book further down the hallway.

"You're still ugly, Muttly," she hissed, her voice so close I guessed she was hovering somewhere right above me. "I don't give a shit who you're fucking."

I didn't bother correcting her as I stood. Instead I said the first think that popped into my head: "You must've been fucking awful if Don's messing around with the likes of me then."

The hallway, which had been silent and trained on us, exploded with laughter at my words. I turned, wanting to see if I had impacted her at all. Boy was she red. I stood up, emboldened by the laughter that was no longer targeted at me. Clearly these kids weren't particularly loyal, they were just looking for entertainment. I smirked, not wanting to try and top my comment. I just turned to continue picking up my things.

And that's when the bitch lost her mind.

She hit my from behind and we both went falling. And although Maria had the element of surprise, I had the upperhand when it came to strength and speed. I was fit; I got tackled every year during the soccer season (especially during the more intense playoff matches). Maria weighed nothing compared to those girls. But she was fucking pissed. My being with Don had really gotten to her.

I rolled us over so that she was underneath me and then I turned so that I could straddle her hips and hold her hands which were trying to claw at my face. "Are you out of your Goddamn mind?!"

"He's mine you fucking cunt," she screamed. Even I was surprised by her language. She managed to pull one hand free and slapped me before rolling us over. She kept clawing at me, but I wasn't worried about her losing control or some shit like that. I was still functioning partially under shock that she had even come at me.

"I've been seeing Don since _September_. He was _never_ yours, you. Stupid. Bitch!"

And I punched her. I didn't even realize it until she had fallen off me, clutching her jaw and I realized my knuckles hurt. I stood up, breathing like a bull. I was furious but for the first time, she was the one cowering on the ground. "You're nothing but a heartless _piece of shit_. It's none of your damn business who I'm with. Like it or not, you leave me the _hell _alone, Maria. Leave. Me. Alone."

I gather my things quickly, terrified that I would get busted by a teacher and be suspended or expelled for fighting. I don't know how the noise we were making didn't attract any attention, but I guess when the students check out for the day, so does the faculty. But I wasn't going to chance a monitor coming out wondering why there were more students in school than on the busses. And besides, even if Maria tried to bitch that I'd hit her, no one would believe. I was invisible in these hallways. I doubted anyone would believe her without witnesses, and I would hope that everyone would admit that she had hit me first.

The crowd parted for me in slack-jawed silence. And although I had bested her this time, I had an inkling she wouldn't stop. And she clearly had some effect on me still, because the word _ugly _kept rolling around in my head. I knew I shouldn't let her bother me, but it couldn't be helped. Don wouldn't change the fact that more people knew me as Muttly than Clarabelle.

I waited for Don at my car, ignoring the glances of students pouring into the parking lot. News really does travel fast here. And sure enough, Don came stumbling out of the double doors, worry pressed into his forehead as his eyes landed on mine. He stalked towards me and I thought he was going to yell or something. But when he reached me, he grabbed my face and kissed me hard. I responded instinctively, forgetting we were still at school.

"Let's get the fuck outta here," he whispers against my lips.

…

No wonder Don had shitty grades. He had the attention span of a five-year-old and the academic drive of a bum. "Will you cut it out?" I snap.

He keeps kissing me and touching me and I'm actually trying to study. "Why?"

"You told me you needed help studying. Christmas break is two weeks and we come back to exams. Are you seriously focusing on trying to get in my pants?"

"Yes."

I huff. At least I can't call him a liar. "Don, I have to focus. Please—"

"You've been focusing since we got here. Take a break, study _my _anatomy instead."

I snort in disbelief and actually lower my pencil so that I can give Don a look. "That was a _terrible_ line."

"It's lucky you're already my girlfriend then, huh?"

I hate that I smile, pleased to hear the word fall from his lips. He smiles, knowing he's bested me. When he moves to kiss me again I nudge him away with my elbow, shaking my head. "Seriously, I have to finish my homework."

"I thought you usually finished this crap during your study break anyway."

"Me and Lee had a Captain's Meeting today, remember?"

Don sighed and I realized that this boy wasn't motivated…enough. Feeling like a hooker and refusing to look up from my texts knowing I was about to blush, I said, "If you finish your work before I have to leave for dinner I'll let you touch my breasts."

"That's not fair."

"Without my bra on."

"…I'm going to get you back for this in the worst way possible."

"I'm counting on it." I close my book, suddenly realizing I have to use the bathroom. I look at Don and teasingly add, "And it better be worth my while."

As I stand he looks at me trying not to look affected. He stares at the pages laid out in front of him, tapping his pencil erratically. "You're good."

"Didja like that?"

"I'm impressed."

I curtsy. "Glad to hear it."

I quickly do my business and wash my hands. I return to the living room. "So here's what I'm thinking about our little deal—oh."

Charles Billingsly looks at me from his position standing over his son. Already Don's jaw is locked tight, and he glances at me with worry as I pause. I wasn't quite expecting his father home until well beyond after I left. Apparently neither did Don. Wringing my hands, I do the only thing I can think of and step forward, smiling in a manner I'm sure appears as awkward as I feel. I extend my hand. "It's good to finally meet you Mr. Billingsly…sir."

He stares down at my hand with an expression of disdain and amusement. He looks down at Don. "You fucking kidding me son?"

He walks away without another word, disappearing in the back. I drop my arm, flushing from embarrassment. Of course, there were rumors that Mr. Billingsly never treated any of the girls Don brought home nicely, but the tone in his voice suggested something crueler than the fact that Don had a girl home. It was the fact that he had brought _me _home.

"We can leave," Don suggested, almost hopefully, as I sat back down on the floor. I reopened my text to the page I had left off on, grabbing my pen.

I shook my head. I don't know what made me do it, because I really didn't know what I would do if Mr. Billingsly directed his anger at me or worse, at Don because of me. But hitting Maria the other day had been empowering. It had felt like, for the first time, I had taken back some of the control she had squandered from me in all the years of bullying. Knowing that I _could _fight back if I needed to had felt good. And I wasn't going to back down now. Of course, I wasn't planning on punching Don's father, but I would show him that no manner of intimidation was going to keep me away from Don unless it was what Don or I wanted.

Don wasn't convinced, and he kept glancing at his father's bedroom door until I said, "Shit, I gotta go. I'm gonna be late."

I gathered my things as Don stood up beside me. He walked me out in silence and in frustration I said, "It'll be fine. Try not to worry so much."

I kiss him quickly before rushing home. I barely make it and Janie pesters me about what Don and I did that afternoon. "My hymen is still intact if that's the point you're trying to get to," I say finally.

"Watch your tone," she says as she stabs at her green beans. Then she looks at me and smiles. "But good to know."

…

The next day at school I'm sitting in the bathroom stall minding my own business when the door opens. I think nothing of it until the girls begin talking. I don't recognize the voices, and they sound very young. I would assume Freshmen or Sophomores by their excited whispers.

"Did you hear about Don last night?"

"No? What happened? Did he dump that floozy?"

Bitch.

"_Pfft,_ I wish. But you know how Tiffany Thorton lives next door?"

"She swears she sees Don naked all the time in his room."

"Seriously?! No way!"

"Uh-huh. Totally ripped with a nice package, she swears."

"Lucky bitch."

I'm rolling my eyes, wanting to scream for them to hurry the fuck up. Definitely Freshmen.

"So anyway, Tiffany says they started arguing again last night—"

"Nothing new—"

"Not long after that Baker girl left."

"No. Way. Did he bust them fucking or something?"

"It didn't sound like it. Besides, you know she's a total prude. I don't even know what he sees in her."

"Wait, so why are you telling me this?"

"Did it even dawn on you that Don's not at school today? And Tiffany said when Charles left for work this morning, he had a nasty bruise around his eye."

"Whoa."

"Right. Hey, can I use your mascara, I need a touch up…"

I hardly notice their leave. I sit on the toilet still, pants around my ankles and imagining the worse. No, Don wasn't at school but I just assumed he was skipping or something. But if Mr. Billingsly had a bruise…Christ had they actually come to blows? Because of me?

I quickly fix my jeans and flush, forgetting to wash my hands as I grab my bag and make a run for my truck. Suddenly I'm scared. Scared of his condition or if he's angry that I ruined his relationship with his father when it finally seemed off to a good start. This never should have happened. I should've known better than to let us go public. I should've never even dated him. I should've just stuck to my guns and never let him kiss me. Stupid, fucking arrogant charming, son of a bitch!

I arrive at the house and I'm surprised to see a familiar car in the driveway. I can't place the owner until they step out of the house and onto the porch. Brian doesn't look particularly surprised to see me, but he holds his stance in front of the door. "Clara—"

"Is it true? Please tell me it's not true."

Brian gives me a look, the truth without having to say anything. I'm sure Don made him promise I wouldn't find out, which could only explain his appearance. But why wouldn't Don call me? I would've come, school or not.

"Let me see him."

"Clara, I can't do that."

"Brian…move."

"I can't."

I'm shaking, from anger and fear. "Is he okay?"

With Brian's attitude, I'm half expecting him to say, "He's not going to make it. I'm sorry." Of course if it were that serious, I would hope my competition for Valedictorian would have enough sense to get Don to a hospital. Instead he looks at me gently and says, "He'll be fine. He just needs to rest."

"And I can't go in?"

He shakes his head and frustrated, I allow him to lead me down the stairs. "It's not serious, Clara. I promise."

He hardly finishes when I spin on my heel and run for the house. It's a soccer maneuver I've had to use way too often to not have perfected by this point. Not to mention Brian wasn't expecting it. I had an easy head start, so although Brian was fast, I was already in the living room by the time he reached me.

Don lay on the couch, a frozen bag of vegetables covering his jaw. He looked at me and then at Brian. "You suck at this," he accused Brian with a faint chuckle. He could still crack jokes. He was fine. Suddenly I feel stupid for panicking.

Until he tries to sit up.

He struggles, his jaw clenched so tightly I'm sure he'll break his teeth. I know that look from sustaining injuries to my torso. I close the distance between myself and the couch, dropping to one knee as Don collapses. I don't even have his shirt to his chest when I realize I can't see because I'm crying.

"What did he do?"

It's obvious what he did though. Bruises adorn Don's stomach and chest and for a moment I'm terrified that something is seriously broken until Don says, "It's not as bad as it looks."

He doesn't seem to have a hard time breathing, the tell-tale sign of a damaged rib. But I'm no doctor and I look between Don and Brian. "Why the hell aren't you in a hospital?"

"I hate that damn place," he hisses.

"I already tried that, Clara," Brian adds.

I silently run my fingers across the bruises, looking for a sign of a more serious injury and thankful when I find none. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Biting my lip I say, "Well you can't stay here—"

"Clara, sweetheart, I can't impose on you and Janie like that. I'm fine here."

I blush. "I mean on the couch. It's not good for your…back."

"Oh."

Brian coughs loudly from behind us and I hide a smile. Brian helps me move Don to his bedroom where, when we lay him gently on the mattress, Don sighs a breath of relief. "God. That does feel better."

Nothing like a woman's touch. Smiling, I take a seat on the edge and force him to remove the ice pack. His jaw is badly bruised and the softer tissue of his cheek shows signs of swelling. "You never let me touch your breasts."

I blush, aghast, but Don laughs. "Relax, Brian's gone for now." I turn. Sure enough Brian has vacated the room, shutting the door behind him. "It's just you and me." Don's tone is suggestive and I stare at him in disbelief.

"You can't be serious. Now?"

"Why not? I thought girls digged guys with bruises."

"_Sweetheart_," I mimick playfully, "I could probably break you in half right now."

He lets out a guttural moan that, so low, almost sounds like an animal growling. I blush, realizing how he took my words and shake my head. "I meant—"

"I know what you mean; don't ruin this for me though."

Smiling, I refrain from explaining that I was only referencing to his weakened condition, not my sexual prowess of which I had none. Don stares at my breast and I roll my eyes. He's not even touching me as long as Brian's here.

"Hey, guys. I'm running to grab some lunch. Want anything?"

Really?

Don is smiling so widely that I have to look away or risk rolling my eyes to the point they fall out of my head. "Nope. We're good. Take as _looong _as you want. You don't really have to come back—"

I hit his leg roughly. "We're fine, Brian. Thank you."

He looks at me. "What the hell?"

"Why are you such an ass sometimes?"

"I was being funny. Chavo knows that. Right Chavo!"

"No, I didn't catch it."

Brian laughs and so do I. I hear his car start and when I turn around Don is eyeing me like candy. "You promised."

"If you finished your homework—"

"Not even in my battered state can you grant me this one reprise? Please?"

"No, because you need to rest."

We basically spend the next ten minutes until Brian comes back arguing the terms and conditions of my promises. Don is furious, pouting like a child when Brian steps in. "Did I miss something?"

"Nope," I say sweetly. "We're all good."


	16. Chapter 16

**Sooo...Hi there. I know it's been a while and this chapter isn't as long as usual, but I really wanted to post something so you readers didn't think I had forgotten about you. Hopefully, I can write myself out of this god-awful writer's block and have some more updates for you all sooner rather than later. Enjoy!**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

A tap at my window slowly drags me out of sleep. My initial assumption is that I'm dreaming until the knocking grows a bit heavier as if in urgency. Slightly worried, I sit up in bed and creep towards the window, not sure what to expect. I slide open the glass, irritated with Don's cheeky grin having nearly given me a heart attack.

"Don, what the hell do you think you're doing out of bed?"

He holds notebook paper that he's scribbled on and I recognize Algebra formulas. "I finished my homework," he announces in a loud whisper.

I blink, confused. "What?"

"Seriously, Clara?"

I'm delirious with a lack of sleep. "Are you still trying to touch my boobs?" I don't need his expression to remind me that that was a stupid question. "Don, you shouldn't even be out of bed and I have school tomorrow."

"I know, I know, but Clara I'm dying here."

"I don't care, Don, you're hurt and making it worse. Go home."

"No."

"Don, this isn't funny."

His mood drops and I suspect he's about to tell me the real reason he showed up here tonight unexpectedly. "I left."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I packed a bag and left. Chavo was supposed to come get me tomorrow so I could stay with him and his folks until things cooled off between me and my dad. But I just…left."

"Oh," I whisper, shame warming my cheeks. _Did I do this? _"Don I'm—"

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," he whispers, his voice low. "I'm not sorry."

I bite my lip nervously. Don takes my face in his hands and kisses me, nearly pulling my body out the window. I clutch the window sill until I realize he's too far for me to touch. Without thinking I pull on his tee, urging him into my bedroom by leaning back, forcing him to follow. He does, eagerly clamoring up the window until he lets out a grunt of pain, falling back to the ground and clutching his side.

"Shit."

"Christ, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"So did I," he chuckles. He looks at me, eyes glinting in the moonlight. "That's pretty unromantic, huh?"

I smile, shaking my head. Stroking his cheek softly I say, "Meet me 'round back, okay?"

Locking my door behind me, I lead Don onto my bed where I get him settled on his back. "Do you need to take something?"

"I've taken so many somethings lately..."

I crawl into the space between my boyfriend and the wall, lulled by the thought of sleep when Don's hand finds my thigh. "No."

"I didn't do anything."

"I'm telling you don't do anything. I need sleep; I can't miss school tomorrow."

"I know that. Sheesh, it's like you don't trust me or something."

I stare at him until he starts laughing at me. "Relax," he whispers, his voice dropping again. I fidget. I can feel his hand stroking the skin of my leg.

"How the hell am I supposed to relax?"

Don turns to face me with a cheeky grin. "Problem?"

"Yeah. You."

He laughs as I turn my back to him, yanking my one pillow out from underneath his head and fluffing it harshly before slamming it back onto the bed and throwing my head atop it. "Clara, baby, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be an ass this time, I swear."

"Then go to sleep, Don," I whine, hating that I'm actually more tense with him lying right beside me than usual. I want nothing more than to roll on top of him but I can't. And he's so close, not even a foot away from me. I can smell his soap, feel the heat radiating off his body and it's driving me insane. I clench my fingers at my side, because if I touch him I'm gone.

I don't realize his silence until I feel the bed shift then rise. I turn, sitting up when I realize that he's limping towards the door, his shoulders stiff. "Where are you going?"

"I'll leave if I'm bothering you that damn much," he stated simply.

"Are you serious? Don, I'm not bothered by the fact that you're here otherwise I wouldn't've let you in."

"Then what's with the cold shoulder all of a sudden? If you didn't want me here, I'd rather you just say so."

"Don it's not that I don't want you here."

"Then what, Clara? Because the back-and-forth with you is really pissing me off."

"You, Don! You're driving me insane!"

"Then why the hell did you let me in?"

I could tell he didn't understand my words, and that was my fault of course. "Dammit Don, I'm trying to tell you I'm horny and it's because of you!"

I bury my burning face in my hands. "God, fuck, I hate you," I snap into my palms. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is being with you? I've never felt this way before and I don't know what I'm doing so if I start acting like a bitch it's not always because I'm angry I'm just…"

I breathe, running my fingers through my hair in frustration but relieved that I've managed to communicate how I really feel. I cross my legs and add on a final note, "This hasn't just been hard for you. I just…didn't know how to tell you."

He hasn't moved from his spot standing in the middle of my room and I can't muster the courage to look him in the eyes just yet. After a while I prompt, "Please say something or I might just die of humiliation."

He doesn't say anything, but I can tell his breathing has deepened and I feel my heart start to pound in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I can make out his figure walking hesitantly towards me but I say nothing. He sits on the edge, dipping the mattress. Even I can see the tent in his sweatpants and I bite my lip hard.

"I didn't know," he whispers apologetically.

"How could you?"

"You just seemed to have so much more control than me," he chuckles. "I mean, I knew you were enjoying it, but I didn't think you were so…frustrated." I can hear the smile in his voice and a part of me knew he had to have found some joy in my words. "I like you better this way," he whispers in a husky voice, his lips tauntingly close to my ears.

"You're enjoying this," I murmur. I don't think I've ever seen him this…erect, for lack of a better term. And I can only imagine what this conversation has been doing to his ego. In all honesty, I don't know which is bigger.

Don leans back with a smile. "And you're not?"

"Not particularly, no," I mutter under my breath. I would've preferred to keep my feelings to myself. I liked Don a lot, but this feeling of vulnerability that came with it was unnerving. I spent my entire life building a wall around myself because eventually you get sick of crying all the damn time. And in less than a semester he broke that barrier. I wish I knew how, but it happened so suddenly that even I couldn't pinpoint an exact date and time.

But the worst part was that a small fraction of my rational self didn't mind the intrusion. No human being willingly lives in solitude. I liked that someone was asking me about my day, my thoughts, my likes, my dislikes. I liked being able to trust someone enough to talk about my father or my insecurities. That isn't easy for me, but Don somehow made it just a bit more manageable.

I found myself choking to tell him this, and I press my lips together. Too soon. I didn't want to spoil a moment any more than I already had. Instead, I offer Don a small smile, hoping that it conveys enough of my thoughts to satisfy him for the night. He pushes a strand of hair back from my face and I hold my gaze, taking in the small swell of skin on his jaw from his father. My eyes roam over the rest of his face, recalling the first time I did this, months ago in my bedroom after our first kiss.

I feel myself lean forward on the bed, my eyes drooping as I neared my targeted goal. My hands clenched his shirt, fisting the material tightly as I pulled him closer to me. The first kiss was hardly anything worth bragging about, but it started a burning desire in me that only Don could quench, if I let him. Something drove me forward and I kissed him again, harder, my breathing already straggled.

I can't quite explain the emotions that came over me, but they were no longer just lustful desires of a teenaged girl making out with her boyfriend. I wanted to touch him, kiss him, and do all that I could to please him, because I felt as though I had done nothing for him this entire time.

But before I had the opportunity to say or do anything, Don said, "Go to sleep. We'll talk more later."

…

Overnight, I seemed to from a nobody to the central hub for gossip at Permian. I got asked if Don really sent Charlie to the hospital, if Don fought defending my honor after we got caught doing it, if it was gang-related…really stupid shit. Some offered their condolences, patting my arms and tossing a smile as if we spoke regularly. By the time I sat down in the cafeteria for lunch, I was almost pining for my solitary confinement in the library.

"You look exhausted," Lee commented with a mouthful of salad.

"Don came over last night," I say without thinking. When Stasia gasps and Lee sputters with disbelief, I roll my eyes and hold up my hands. "Not like that."

"Then what like?" Stasia asked.

I bite my lip, not sure if this was something I was supposed to be telling anyone. And I certainly didn't want the buzzing cafeteria to overhear, so I leaned in a whispered. "He left."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he packed a bag and left. I had to call Brian early this morning to come get him before Janie busted him in my bed—"

"You slept together!"

"Jesus, Stasia," I hiss, glancing around. One group of freshmen paused right behind her paused, tilting their heads as if to see if they heard right. Only when they resumed talking, shrugging as if they had misheard, did I sit back down in my seat. "Christ, watch it. I don't need any more rumors swirling around about me and Don. I really just want this to be as normal as possible, and that can't happen if people are always talking."

She winced. "Sorry." Then she grinned. "Please, please, spill."

I blush, trying not to smile. "There's nothing to spill."

"Liar. It's written all over your face: something happened between you two."

I looked at Lee who was waiting with curious eyes. I dropped my shoulders in defeat and said, "I might've mentioned how "attracted" to him I was," I say.

"What the hell does that even men," Lee snaps. "Were you not attracted to him before?"

"No, that's not what I meant." I glance around us, isolated in our little corner and yet surrounded by so many other students. I couldn't risk it.

"Look, I'll tell you later, okay."

"You better," Stasia said sternly. "I can just tell by how red your face is that this is gonna be good."


End file.
